


Possessed By Light

by Enmuse (Scifiroots)



Series: The Courage or the Fall [2]
Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Amnesia, Angst with a Happy Ending, Brainwashing, Bucky Barnes Feels, Bucky Barnes Needs a Hug, Canon Divergence - Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Clint Barton Is a Good Bro, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Flashbacks, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Hydra (Marvel), Identity Issues, Memory Related, Mind Control, Mind Control Aftermath & Recovery, Mind Gem (Marvel), Past Brainwashing, Post-HYDRA Reveal, Team Feels, Team as Family, Tony Stark Feels, Tony Stark Needs a Hug
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-10-01
Updated: 2017-10-12
Packaged: 2019-01-07 15:38:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 31,769
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12235788
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Scifiroots/pseuds/Enmuse
Summary: Tony Stark disappeared shortly after the Avengers started coming into their own. All traces led to dead ends, and time marched on. In the spring of 2017, it came to light that Hydra was deeply intertwined with SHIELD, and Captain America found out his best friend still lives. Now, James "Bucky" Barnes has come home, more or less. His mind is his own, including the fractured memories that flit just beyond his reach. A drop-in appearance by former SHIELD director Fury clarifies one thing: the Winter Soldier had met Tony Stark.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [bluesheets](https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluesheets/gifts), [hotrodngold](https://archiveofourown.org/users/hotrodngold/gifts).



> Regarding timeline, events of IM3 did not occur and additional year adjustments were made:  
> May '12 - The Avengers  
> November '12 - Thor: The Dark World  
> January '14 - Tony goes missing  
> April '17 - Captain America: The Winter Soldier  
> February '18 - this fic
> 
> In the summer/fall of 2016, bluesheets and I did a lot of chatting. This story spawned during a humorous conversation, though all I recall now was that it was something along the lines of "hydra pen-pals." My brain latched onto that and started trying to figure out some more "practical" — which led to this hurt/comfort piece.
> 
> Huge freaking thank you to everyone on the WinterIron 18+ Discord. Before a sprint I listed some projects for myself, Wren picked a number, and somehow this thing (I only added it on a whim) came up. Cue ~25k written in a week's time. The energy and support with the group has been amazing, there's no way this would have gotten done without the amazing support. Love and enthusiastic hugs to [hotrodngold](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Krystalicekitsu/pseuds/hotrodngold) for enthusiasm, cheering on the angst, ideas, and freaking writing transition-y parts in chapters 7 and 8. Additional thanks to Bill, Ali, Alyss, Blue, and Aliska. Y'all are **amazing**.
> 
> Title comes from a line of [Richard Siken's "Scheherazade"](https://penusa.org/blogs/mark-program/poem-week-scheherazade-richard-siken)
> 
>  
> 
> _Bill and hotrod both did me a huge favor and looked things over before I started posting. ♥_

James opens his eyes and lies still, his breathing unsteady and too loud in his ears. The lights are already brightening around him, helping him recognize the soft edges of his surroundings. The chill from remembered cold, stark, medical laboratories lingers on his skin. He turns his head and sees that JARVIS has projected the date, time, and weather forecast over the window. New York City is still lit by electric lights, only the barest hints of dawn in the sky.

As James sits up, the AI finally speaks. "Is there anything you require, Mr. James?" The address always sounds strange, but it had been a compromise after he refused the repeated use of his surname and any titles previously associated with him. He isn't sure who he wants to be, now. Not after the multiple lives he's apparently lived with none of the memories clear.

"No. It's fine." James tosses back the sheets damp with his sweat and slides off the bed. It is too large for him, almost too soft to tolerate. Half the time he ends up sleeping on the floor in the bedroom, or on the couch as he zones out with something on the television.

"As always, please let me know if I may be of assistance," the AI says.

James suppresses a sigh before answering haltingly, "I will. Thanks."

One day when James had opened his mouth to snap at the nosy AI, Bruce Banner dared to place a calming hand on his arm. The scientist met James' stare warily but didn't pull away as he explained in a low tone that JARVIS had grown increasingly protective of the Tower residents after his creator's disappearance. James had spoken to Steve about it later as they went jogging — complained, really. How was a computer supposed to have feelings when it was made up of preprogrammed code? Steve was quiet as he thought, his gaze distant as it often was when reminded of the sudden disappearance of Tony Stark.

 _"JARVIS,"_ he said, _"is more than a program. I don't know how, I didn't believe it for a while, either. But you can't ignore he's... Well, it's like he's alive."_ Steve shrugged with a rueful smile as they turned in sync around a corner. _"I figure stranger things have happened."_

As much as he hates to admit it, even in the privacy of his own mind, James knows what it's like to be rudderless. He isn't sure it is a good thing to relate to a creation floundering without its creator. Probably not, which is why he won't say as much to the group of supposedly well-meaning superheroes trying to help him regain his sense of self.

James enters the bathroom and closes the door behind him. He lets himself slump against the frame. He closes his eyes and concentrates on deep breaths for a moment, appreciating the relief of knowing the AI would not monitor him in the room unless explicitly called. Just because he understands the AI, strange as that is to think, doesn't mean he cares for the ever-present eye. (Barton frequently jokes about "Big Brother" and "Skynet.")

Straightening up, James strips and moves to the vanity. He studies his reflection, noticing that some color is finally starting to clear his skin's eerie pallor. His hair had escaped its bun sometime during the night, and the hair-tie sticks stubbornly in a knot at his neck. Steve keeps trying to convince James to get a cut, but that doesn't feel right. He had let Barton trim it a few weeks ago, to clean it up a bit and even out the ends. The frequent tangled knots aren't pleasant, but there is also something calming about methodically combing through his hair. Romanov had been the one to present him with hair ties, all in muted colors and practical. Barton and Thor have started dropping colorful clips and ties in front of James when they cross paths in the common area.

 _"The grunge look really isn't in season,"_ a voice rasps in James' memory. Someone coughs harshly and spits; the slosh of water comes from far away.

James blinks at his reflection. The image stares back at him with a confused frown. The voice isn't Steve's, but that doesn't narrow down the timeline for the memory. He remembers dim lighting and concrete, but as is often the case with his momentary flashbacks, he is unable to match images with aural recollections.

His breath escapes him in a rushed sigh. James shakes his head and turns to the shower. Before he steps into the stall, he glances down at his metal arm. With his flesh fingertips, he brushes lightly over the plating just below the elbow joint. If he presses his fingers just so, he would be able to open the panel, expose the little device—

 _"I know you,"_ the man insisted in a harsh whisper. His pupils were dilated, wide enough that it was impossible to make out the color of his irises beneath the shadow of his too-long hair. _"We weren't—"_ he hissed out a curse before continuing, _"we weren't_ theirs. _Not— not before—"_

 _"If you will not do your job, remove your hand,"_ the Asset said.

 _"We weren't always!"_ the man insisted. The Asset felt the pressure of fingers wrapping around his wrists, grasping with a strength too weak to hold him. The Asset still snarled quietly when the man wouldn't let go. _"I just..."_ The man's voice trailed off, and his eyes lost their spark. A few moments of silence later, blank eyes drifted down to the metal arm. _"Sit."_

James swears softly under his breath and steps under the spray of water. He is so sick of fragmented memories.

~

"Want one?"

James looks up from contemplating his cup of cooling coffee. Barton stands by the fridge, door braced open with one hand while he juggles a couple apples with the other. James grunts quietly. The archer takes that for agreement and lobs an apple towards the table. James catches it and makes a show of wiping the apple off on his shirt.

"Y'know, I'm pretty sure you used to eat things that were actually covered in dirt." Barton takes a large bite of his apple and hip-checks the fridge door closed.

"Sure," James agrees. "But not covered in a blanket of chemicals."

"Yeah, I'm sure your shirt shine is really gonna clear that off," Clint says with a roll of his eyes. He wanders over to the table and looks to be contemplating sitting on the tabletop (it's not a rare occurrence). James glares at the man until Barton slides out a chair and sits down like a normal person.

They eat in relative silence. 

Barton eventually throws his apple core over his shoulder and into the sink. James rolls his eyes and follows suit. "Say it," he tells the archer.

"What?" Clint's over the top innocent expression makes it obvious he's not even trying to get away with the act. James waits him out, stare steady. "Oh, you mean the question you'll side-step or outright not answer?"

"Then why ask it." James stands up to dump out his cold coffee and dispose of the apple cores properly.

"Meh. Never know when it might occur to you that you're among friends who've been mind screwed a time or two and could offer a sympathetic ear."

"I don't need sympathy." James shuts the cabinet door hiding the garbage a little harder than necessary.

Barton holds his hands up as he leans his chair back on two legs. "No siree. Poor word choice. Not my strong suit."

"Can't say I expected you to be the one..."

"To check in?" Clint cocks an eyebrow at James' skeptical stare. "I'm sure you're sick of Steve doing it. Just because the rest of us aren't overbearing doesn't mean we're ignoring stuff."

James sighs and resists the urge to just walk out. He makes himself stay put, crossing his arms and leaning against the counter. "What stuff?"

"Well there's the typical, most obvious stuff. Then there are the faces you pull like you're remembering something but can't really get it. Not the," Clint waves his hand in a vague gesture, "Cap's 'Bucky' stuff. That's a different look and usually, y'know, prompted around Cap. This is something else, probably Soldier shit 'cuz you tend to touch your arm."

The words send a fissure of anxiety along James' nerves. His arms tighten over his chest, and he can feel his eyes narrowing. Barton considers him thoughtfully, though his eyes are wary. "So you've got an idea what it is," he observes.

"Maybe, maybe not," James replies tersely.

"Okay... guess that conversation's off the table." He squints at James a moment. "But tell someone if something's hurting you?"

James bares his teeth automatically, adjusting his stance so that he's better protecting his metal arm. He doesn't let anyone deliberately touch it, refuses to let anyone examine it closely. Steve had convinced him to let some general, non-invasive scans be done so as to check for traps or trackers. James didn't mention he'd taken care of those himself. He wasn't about to tell anyone that there is something in his arm that still works, if he reconnects it. It is possible to destroy it — he knew he should — but he isn't ready to do so. He knows he was never voluntarily part of Hydra, never would have chosen it for himself, but there's some instinct telling him not to sever this one possible connection. It's dangerous, but he has to trust that if trouble does arise, the Avengers will be able to take care of it.

"And I lost you." James looks sharply at Barton. The archer shakes his head, a wry smile on his lips. "Whatever it is, I hope you figure it out, man." The chair settles back on all four legs, and Clint stands up. "We're around. Some of us even keep secrets for a living. Or used to, I suppose." He grimaces and shrugs.

James gives a curt nod. "I'll think about it."

~

A mug crashes against the counter, ceramic yielding to granite.

Glass vials cracked open on the floor. The Asset crushed the intact tubes beneath his boot heel. He didn't know for sure why he was doing it, following the actions of the wild-eyed man instead of the familiar uniforms. The Asset felt a spike of adrenaline similar to the shock of the Chair. One of the guards — not a Handler, the Asset noted — drew a shock stick and raised it to attack the wild-eyed man. Before the guard could swing, the Asset closed his metal fingers around fragile wrist bones. He ignored the scream of pain, merely followed through with incapacitating the others. Part of him, the part reacting to the strange spike of anxiety, wanted to kill them and flee. His training kept him from following the urge; they weren't his handlers, but they were not to be terminated unless they got in the way of a mission.

 _"We need to go,"_ the wild-eyed man rasped. His voice was raw, fitting his tangled hair and bloodshot eyes. The Asset remembered water. The man grabbed the Asset's flesh wrist and tugged.

"—2018 in Avengers HQ housed in Stark Tower. The weather outside is ten degrees Fahrenheit. Interior temperature is—"

"Think we're good, JARVIS." James doesn't register who says it. He blinks slowly at the group of superheroes scattered none too subtly between him and the exits from the kitchen.

James takes a step back and lowers his arms to his sides. He assumes he looked like he was about to attack, but the adrenaline slowly ebbing stemmed from an instinct to defend and flee. But the Asset didn't run. James looks around and sees the overturned stools. He bends down to right one, glad he didn't break it, and lowers himself wearily as his pulse settles to its normal rate.

The others have relaxed by the time he settles in. Banner pushes his glasses up his nose and mutters to Clint to get a broom and dustpan. Thor looks apologetic as he stands across the counter from James.

"I regret my clumsiness so distressed you, Friend." James waves off the apology and musters a brief smile to let the demigod know he's forgiven.

Sam quietly begins righting the room as Steve comes over and rests a gentle hand on James' shoulder. James forces himself not to flinch, but he doesn't meet the searching gaze. He stares at his wrist, trying to recall the feel of the too pale hand that had wrapped around it. The palm was warm, the fingers chill; the Asset had felt the softening bumps of a working man's callouses.

"You were..." Steve's voice brings James out of the memory. "Ah, you said something." James doesn't lift his gaze from the counter, but he does tilt his head slightly in silent prompt to continue.

Natasha speaks in Russian, _"Let go and stay behind me."_

At that, James twitches and casts her a sharp look. She meets his gaze steadily. _"A name?"_ James asks before he realizes the question is on his tongue. He feels like his heart is in his throat; he wants a name, he _needs_ his scattered memories to line up.

"You didn't say a name," Clint replies, in English. "You don't tend to say 'get behind me' to a target, though."

James averts his gaze from Natasha in favor of staring at his hands fisted against the countertop. Steve's hand feels heavy on his shoulder.

"Do you know when it was?" Steve asks.

Does it matter? James shrugs; conveniently, it prompts Steve to withdraw his hand.

Barton nonchalantly leans against the counter and comments in Russian, _"You've got that look again, Soldier Boy."_ James realizes that his fingers have moved to his metal arm. Jerking away will just draw more attention to it.

"We could have breakfast at my place?" Steve offers.

James doesn't want to talk, so he counters, "That'd go against Sunday team breakfast." He ignores Steve's disappointed expression though he glares at Barton for his poorly muffled amused chuckle.

~


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Since these first two chapters are basically the introduction, I'll post them together.

James is more than a little irritated that JARVIS won't explain why he suddenly can't get into the gym without Steve's permission. He never had trouble before, even in the early weeks when there was real cause to be wary. He can't bring himself to ask the AI if new rules are in place because of his flashback episodes in front of the team. 

_It was only twice,_ he thinks moodily, remembering the kitchen and a game night episodes. He hadn't been violent either time, he'd just been overwhelmed by the rush of memories he couldn't place.

Instead of further questioning the sudden lock-out, James asks about Steve's location and is told to head to the communal floor.

James exits the elevator cautiously, some sixth sense alerting him to a difference in the air. Before he consciously notes it, part of him must hear the cadence of an unfamiliar voice. JARVIS hasn't spoken to him since denying access to the gym. James could prompt the AI for information, but he trusts his skills more than any piece of programming, no matter how lifelike the entity sometimes seems.

His feet are silent as he moves carefully down the hall. The conversation comes from the dining room, though it rarely serves such a purpose. There is enough room in the kitchen for everyone to eat, and the more formal table and seating of the dining room is occasionally used as a meeting space. 

James doesn't go too close to the doorway, knowing that the closer he gets, the more likely one of the others will discover him. He isn't "in the know" when it comes to Avengers things. He doesn't really care to be, either, but something different is happening here. Being locked out of the gym and the AI prompting him to the common floor is far too convenient when an unknown visitor is in the mix.

"I don't understand how we missed this," Steve's saying.

"The infiltration ran deep," the unfamiliar voice says, the tone resembling a growl. "Fuckers had some skilled hackers and technicians. Plus the cover of some of the legitimate contracts."

Banner speaks in a slightly shaky voice, like he's unnerved; "It wasn't in the information dump or JARVIS would have found it."

"Nothing outright, but there's got to be evidence in there," the unfamiliar man responds. "I wouldn't count out those files yet."

Natasha says, "I'll look through it."

"Bigger than a one person job," Barton drawls, tone casual but with a hint of tension. After a pause he continues, "Cap, you know it might be a good idea to—"

"No," Steve interrupts firmly. "I don't want Bucky involved. He dealt with them long enough, I don't want him wading through Hydra files."

James' eyes narrow in silent frustration. He has a better clue to try and understand the conversation, at least. The team is looking for specific information tangled up in the mess of Hydra-twisted SHIELD files. Romanov had dumped everything with Steve's command, though James has been told it's a little more complicated than that.

"I appreciate your concern for your friend, Captain, but we need a full team on this." James thinks the visitor must be someone with authority, possibly from the former SHIELD, given the tone he uses to address Steve. He has the voice of someone who expects others to fall in line, and there are few who would attempt it with Captain America. "Need I remind you of your teammate's former profession? The way his family made their billions in the last century, by building up this country's firepower?"

"We don't need to drag Bucky into this," Steve counters. James imagines the blond crossing his arms, shoulders back, and jaw clenched in a stubborn set as he glares around the room. For a few moments, the image isn't of the muscle-bound body but that of a lanky, thin boy who, despite his steady stance, looks one rough gust of wind away from toppling.

"Frankly, Cap, you're wrong."

Natasha intervenes. "Steve, we're not talking about going into the field. Clint and I will be going through the information as well. We could really use some inside perspective on the information we're going through."

"You know he still gets flashbacks," Steve argues. "I don't think this falls into the category of, what is it, exposure therapy? No, this isn't healthy for him, and I'm not sure it's safe for anyone." James grits his teeth and somehow manages to resist the urge to march into the room and punch that stubborn jaw.

"It's not ideal," Wilson finally speaks up, "but you can't coddle him. James is... dealing. It's going a hell of a lot better than expected, really. I get the sense he wants to be useful, to help. This could be a good opportunity for that."

"It's looking at data, Cap," Barton says. "Let's at least ask him."

"You better hope your boy has some guesses. We're all damned if we don't track down a lead." The stranger gathers everyone's attention. "We're facing a few possible scenarios here, people, and none of them are good. But we do have a scale of bad to worst."

"Really," Steve's tone is dry as a desert.

"Have you come across any Stark tech in your recent tangles with Hydra cells?"

"Not that we've noticed," Clint says.

Banner asks, "JARVIS?"

"I have not recognized any of Sir's work," the AI replies promptly.

"So we have some good news on that front," the visitor says. "Doesn't mean we aren't in for something big coming up. He's been missing for four years. Even a man like Stark, with the shit Hydra has on hand, is going to break. How he breaks is going to determine just how fucked we are."

There's a lengthy pause, and then Thor asks quietly, "Is it possible he's dead?"

Romanov's voice is firm as she responds, "They would not let him die easily. Stark's a valuable resource, too unique to squander. It's also probably why we haven't seen anything that is clearly his creation. They'd want to keep the knowledge of his captivity under wraps for as long as possible."

"Look, I want to help Tony as much as anyone, but I don't think adding Bucky to the mix will do anyone good."

Bruce counters, voice tense, "You don't know that. Barnes knows possible tactics. He had ringside seats to what they did to manipulate people."

"And that's why it's a bad idea to involve him! He already has to deal with flashbacks and nightmares, why add all these... these... _triggers_ to the mix?"

Someone slams their hands on the table — probably not Steve or Thor, as there would otherwise be cracking wood . "Shut the fuck up and sit down. Where the hell is Barnes? I'll ask him myself if you can't find it in you."

James figures this is as good of time as any to enter. He steps away from the wall, straightening his posture as he heads for the doorway. Natasha is already looking his way when he enters. The others quickly catch on; Steve seems to pale, so he must realize James heard some of the exchange.

"What do you need me to do?" James asks. He eyes the visitor, a bald black man dressed in jeans, a dark sweater, and combat boots. There's an eye patch and he looks a little like an out of place pirate standing with his fists braced on the table. The man doesn't look fazed by James' entrance nor does he seem cowed by the presence of the Winter Soldier. James stares at the man, feeling a stir of recognition. A target of the Asset's, perhaps, which makes it rather amazing that the man is still standing.

"Something's come up," Sam starts, shooting a sidelong glance at Steve.

"Look, Buck, you don't have to do this..."

James glares at Steve. "Let me make my own damn choices."

"Turns out we have a missing teammate to uncover now that we finally have a little information," Clint says. The archer is crouching casually atop the long sideboard on the opposite side of the table. "Y'know, the guy whose name is on the side of the building we live in?"

"Stark," James acknowledges. The man who went missing a while ago without a clear trail or any ransom demands. "You think Hydra has him."

Steve heaves a sigh; James can hear his resignation. "Fury was able to uncover just enough to make that suspicion likely."

 _Fury: Nicholas J., Director of SHIELD,_ his often silent memories provide. 

"Seems like you'd have a good eye for uncovering traces of activity that would go along with subduing and controlling a Hydra captive," Fury says. His single eye focuses intently on James.

_"We weren't theirs!"_

James nods, the movement jerky as the aural memory hits. His pulse seems to pound heavier through his veins and there's suddenly a soft edge to his vision.

"JARVIS will assist," Natasha says, but it's like her voice is coming from far away.

A flash of teeth in a surprisingly genuine grin catches James' memory. There's a hoarse, watery laugh, not very bright but still holding a hint of amusement. _"Who'd have thought? God, if your pal knew—"_

 

There was a firm grip on the Asset's arm. The Asset examined the hands touching him, noting that new callouses were developing. The man beside him was both familiar and unfamiliar. The hands, he thought, were what he remembered. When he looked up, the face seemed different, there was less expression than he expected to see. The gaze focused on the Asset's arm. He didn't remember this man's eye color or why he thought the facial hair was wrong.

 

 _"—our little secret. They won't even notice."_ The Merchant artfully arranged the components with the Asset's arm so that his tiny additional device was hidden within the inner workings.

 _"What does it do?"_ the Asset asked quietly. His tone was emotionless, though he felt the strangest stirring of something awakening within him.

The Merchant paused momentarily, hands frozen over the tools he needed to finish re-surfacing the arm. His gaze went distant. As the Asset watched, he thought he saw a blue haze ripple over the surface of the other man's eyes. The moment passed, and the Merchant returned to his work. _"Your vitals,"_ he explained.

The Asset didn't ask why the Merchant would need such information yet not make it available to his Handlers. He didn't believe that was the full answer, either, but something about that blue haze gave him the sense that further questioning would be useless.

 

" _This_ is why it isn't a good idea to involve him!"

James comes back to the present to find he's breathing heavily as he leans over the table on braced hands. He lets the voices argue around him as he gets his bearings. Staring at the surface of the table, he suddenly realizes that it isn't wood beneath his hands. The surface reminds him of—

"JARVIS, I need to see pictures of Stark." James isn't sure how he gets the words past the thickness in his throat. He must not have spoken loudly because the argument continues around him. The AI hears him, though, and promptly a scattering of press and casual images appears on the surface of the table. The voices around him trail off.

"What are—?"

James cuts Steve off, "Are there... his hands?" He swallows hard. He feels like he's staring down his scope, waiting for his target to move into just the right position where his shot will be most effective.

The photos of Stark's face move to the side as a small collection of images come up featuring close-ups of the man's hands. "There is not much reference material I can offer you, Mr. James."

James stares at the hands, trying to remember. He reaches out and is startled when he presses against a smooth surface. It's no good, his memory is better with the tactile, in this case. 

"James, did you...?" Sam trails off.

The Avengers and Fury are all circled around the table now, peering at the images James requested. Giving up on the hand images, James uses his flesh fingers to drag forward one of the closeups of Stark's face. He enlarges it and focuses on the eyes. There's a sharpness, not quite bitter, not quite happy, expressed in the eyes. It's almost familiar. James doesn't recall the color well enough — only that there was an unnatural blue glow as time progressed — but the expression and shape seem familiar. 

He lets out a shaky breath.

"You saw him." Romanov's statement draws a few startled looks. James nods jerkily. "Do you remember when?" He shakes his head no.

"Bucky..." Steve breathes, sounding surprised yet guilty.

"I'm part of this mission," James declares gruffly. He raises his eyes to Steve and pins his friend with a stubborn stare. He hopes he doesn't need to explain his sense of need to help with this. His memories are unclear and fragmented, but what he does remember feels private, something secret, rare moments that belonged to him rather than the people he served while the Winter Soldier.

Fortunately Steve seems to recognize James' determination. The blond gives him a nod, expression slipping into professional determination. "Natasha, Clint, and JARVIS will work with Bucky to see what information might be hiding in the SHIELD files regarding Stark. If we're called out, Natasha and Clint will alternate active duty unless we need all hands."

"I have additional contacts I want to see," Fury says. "Keep me in the loop."

It seems like Steve is barely resisting the urge to roll his eyes as he turns to Fury. "I could say the same," he returns wryly. Fury doesn't bat an eye at the lack of trust.

"Good luck." Fury walks past James on his way out. They exchange calculating stares without saying a word.

When the man's gone, Clint explains, "Winter Soldier tried to kill him a few times last year."

"Yeah," James mutters, gaze going back to the display on the table. "Kinda got that feeling."

~


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Now with chapter count! It's 11-12 chapters total. Depends on how long the final scenes end up.

James lifts his head when he hears the brush of fabric catch the edge of the doorway. Barton pauses on the threshold for a moment, staring at James thoughtfully as if reconsidering his destination. James shrugs briefly before letting his head drop back against the couch. He closes his eyes and drags his right hand over his face.

Clint crosses the room and jumps over the back of the couch. He lands with a huff on the opposite end. They sit in silence for a while in the dimly lit room. James lost track of time somewhere past one a.m. It's still dark outside, so it probably hasn't been very long.

"You get any sleep yet?"

"What do you think?" James grunts. He opens his eyes and stares at the ceiling.

"It's just the thing you ask," Clint answers. A beat later, he says, "This sucks."

Reluctantly, James smiles. "Eloquent."

"What am I supposed to say? This fucking _sucks!_ How long's it been, and we didn't have a clue?" The archer smacks his fist against the couch's arm rest. "Bad enough we didn't know about goddamn Hydra in SHIELD. We should have—"

"Done what?" James interrupts quietly. He closes his eyes again even though it does little to help define the memories of a man half-drowned, blue light glowing from his chest and in his eyes. "You couldn't have— They're..." he trails off with a frustrated growl.

He doesn't talk about what happened to him outright, none of them do, really. His own escape was something of a miracle. Something in his brain is hardwired to Steve, to his connection with the guy who used to be a little twerp, but now has a body to match the strength of his spirit. Without Steve and the way Hydra's project went into a downward spiral, James wouldn't have been able to get a foothold. The conflict opened the door to a rare opportunity and allowed him to escape. On his own, without Hydra to enact reconditioning protocols, the serum in his body started to stitch together the man beneath the nameless Asset. It wasn't destiny that brought him to the present; it was pure luck.

"Don't say that," Clint mutters, voice tight. When James glances over, he sees the archer has coiled in on himself as he stares blindly into some memory. A muscle along his jaw jumps in his fierce expression. "We're going to fix this. Get that stupid jerk back. Rescue his sorry ass like a damn princess."

The emotions underlying his tone are worrying, but the words make James' ghost of a smile return. It's brief-lived. 

Clint presses, "What were they doing to him?"

James' hands clench reflexively. He sees the blue again, hears sloshing water and hacking coughs, yet within those memories are the firm touches of a confident man; meticulous care of circuitry and tools. The Asset was a tool, a thing others had maintained and managed, but it was not a living being. This new man, lit with blue, focused with the intensity of others before him, but his touches did not treat the Asset as an object. There was a sense of recognition that there was more than the shell offered for maintenance or guarding.

The blue-lit man — _Stark,_ the name reaches James as he drifts in memory — hunched over a spread of large papers covered in calculations and wire-frame designs. His hands moved quickly as he edited, sketching new images and jotting down new numbers; faster and faster until he abruptly stopped. Blue light flared, then faded. He blinked slowly and raised a trembling hand to his face. He looked up, expression confused as he searched the room. His gaze caught on the Asset, and he just stared. The Asset stared back.

_"We don't belong here,"_ the man whispered, eyes wide and haunted. Blue light still glowed in the middle of his chest. Without the glow in his eyes, it was obvious to see the gaunt lines of his face and the creases indicating a past of laughter. There was no laughter here; the Asset had almost forgotten the sound associated with the word.

James sucks in a sharp breath as he comes back to himself. Barton is still curled up tightly. He doesn't look directly at James, but his stare is no longer lost to another time. Even though Clint's question has sat stagnant between them while they lost themselves, James prepares himself to answer.

Barely parting his lips, James admits, "Drowning. Bruises." He remembers small impressions. "He was defiant, always fighting them. Irreverent. Blue in his chest, matching the blue in his eyes." He frowns, gaze going unfocused as he tries to think of that image again. "No... similar, but not the same."

"Blue... eyes?" Clint's cautious tone pulls James' attention. Their gazes meet and James sees dread spreading across the archer's paling face. "A glow?" Slowly, James nods. Clint visibly swallows. "Did you see a— a staff? A glowing orb?"

James tries to recall, sifting through his fragmented memories. He doesn't come up with a ready answer. "I don't remember," he admits.

Barton closes his eyes and sucks in a shaky breath. James doesn't ask the obvious question.

Silence weighs in the air. Their breathing, unsteady from memories, is the only sound. James goes back to staring at the ceiling. He doesn't know how long he's been doing it, but he eventually becomes aware of running his fingers along the metal plates by the crease of his elbow.

_"This'll be our little secret."_

_"What does it do?"_

Brown irises were momentarily drowned out by the glow of unnatural blue washing across his eyes.

_"Just your vitals."_

It was more, it meant something much more than that. Between the bouts of blue, the rapid note-taking, and the confident assembly of components, there were the moments of confusion, defiance, determination. A stubbornly set jaw, scarred hands ripping apart the papers around him, screams of anger to override the pain. The occasional touch meant _comfort_ more than simple routine care. Determination shone through even the confusion. Even with the loss of names, he maintained the conviction that he wasn't in the right place; he held the conviction that the _Asset_ belonged elsewhere.

"It's a space rock."

James' attention snaps to the archer.

"When the invasion happened, Thor's dick brother had it," Clint continues without looking directly at James. "Damn thing lit up like a star but wrapped around you like a boa-constrictor." He let out a harsh laugh. "Compliant, that's what you became. Just lets the guy right into your head, convinced there is no other purpose for your life."

James doesn't know the details, isn't sure he could get Clint to admit them even if he asked, but he can make an educated guess as to the importance of this. His breath hitches on a lump lodged in his throat. It seem appropriate, the device Clint suggests. If he had first-hand experience with it, he'd know the symptoms. Hydra has their hands on an alien artifact.

"It's breakable," James states, knowing it to be true.

Clint finally meets his gaze and gives a brief nod. "If we get close enough. Assuming we're lucky enough that the longer the time he's trapped doesn't destroy our chances."

Brown irises beneath the blue. Fear overlaid with determination and anger.

"We'll get him," he says with conviction. Barton eyes him, lips pressed into a thin, bloodless line.

After some time, he nods curtly. "Damn right."

~

"Loki's staff?" Bruce looks much more awake after Clint brings up the alien artifact. He narrows his eyes in thought as he sips his tea. Barton stands at the kitchen counter, fingers tapping impatiently. James shifts restlessly in his chair next to Steve at the table.

"Does this give us a lead?" Steve prompts when nothing follows.

Bruce sets down his mug. "It's possible..." He glances over his shoulder toward the door. "I need to talk with Thor. If the orb's signature is similar to the tesseract, we've got the program on hand. If it's not, hopefully there's some data from what you dumped out of the SHIELD files that will help."

"You can track a signal on this thing?" James asks, leaning forward on his elbows.

Banner shrugs. "I don't see why not. Whether or not that will lead us to Tony properly is anyone's guess. Did you—?"

"See it? Not that I remember." James glares at his hands, frustrated that his memories remain splintered even after being able to connect Stark into them. "But Barton thinks the blue I kept seeing fit."

"Any idea if it was the sort of 'coercion' they needed to apply regularly?" Banner asks.

James nods, that's something he can answer. "He didn't seem to stay under for long, from what I can tell. Wasn't always coherent, but there was obvious deviation from whatever they expected."

"Well, that's something," Bruce mutters before rubbing a hand over his face. "Okay, I'm going to talk to Thor and get started on this."

Clint turns to grab James' empty mug from the table and heads for the coffee machine, bringing his mug as well. After refilling them both, he returns to the table and pushes James' mug into his hands. "Come on, Natasha's probably already working through the data."

James stands up and nods a silent farewell to Steve. His friend offers a tight smile in return.

Barton leads the way down a floor and into what looks like a conference room. The screens covering three of the walls and the surface of the table are filled with images and digital documents. Romanov stands in front of one wall, studying several screens. She spares them a glance before returning to her work.

"Where do we start?" James asks, trying to mask how unnerved he feels when looking at the amount of material presented.

"If you would take a seat the far end of the table, I believe I have collected the material wherein your observations will be most relevant," JARVIS directs. James follows the instructions with a nod. He's thankful that the AI clears the table near his chair until there are only two windows to focus on. "Agent Barton, please let me know if there is a particular path you wish to explore. There is a list available to Agent Romanov's right."

"You heard about the staff, right?" Clint prompts. The screens to Natasha's right quickly change display. "Thanks, Jarv."

James hesitantly taps the file at the top of the ready-made list. It opens a report detailing the history of the tesseract recovery and its movement thereafter.

~

"Hey. Time for a break."

James looks up from the table and blinks for a moment, readjusting his focus as he looks towards Steve's voice. His friend leans in through the doorway and looks around the room. Once he has everyone's attention, he hitches a thumb over his shoulder. "Come on, lunch is ready. Bruce has a small update, too."

The promise of an update is more motivation than the food. James pushes away from the table and stands. On his way to the door, he grabs the back of Barton's shirt and pulls him along. Natasha gives them an amused look.

"I will continue my analysis," JARVIS informs them as they make their way to the elevator. "There will be additional filtering when you return."

In the kitchen, Sam and Bruce are setting out the containers of take-out, Thai food, by the smell of it. Steve shoos everyone to a seat before he allows any serious conversation. As soon as they're able, Clint leans toward Bruce and asks for the update.

"Thor's been helping me sort out the differences between the artifacts. JARVIS pulled up the algorithms we used to track the tesseract, and we've adjusted accordingly. He's doing his best to run a trial with the search parameters, but it's a little hard to know how accurate it will be."

Thor adds, "It would be to our benefit if we could determine a way to track the victims of the scepter. JARVIS and the doctor have explained this is an improbable task without additional data."

Clint's jaw visibly clenches. After a long moment's pause, he asks, "Anything you can get from me?" Natasha's hand slips gently onto his back.

Banner shakes his head as he offers a weak smile. "No. I tried to see if there was anything caught on the Helicarrier at the time. If there was any information, the data was erased or lost."

James watches varying levels of disappointment flash across the faces around him. It makes for a glum lunch. Everyone drifts away once they've had their fill. They have their tasks to pursue, and with luck, they may find the miracle lead needed to find Stark.

~


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So hotrod somehow managed to detangle what I wanted to say and sorted out a couple sentences in here. ♥ As much as I harass them, they're also a savior.

James stands in his bathroom, staring into his own mirrored gaze. He's thought about about the possible consequences of his decision. At least, he has tried his best to make predictions. He knows to prepare himself for the upset he is about to cause. Steve will be hurt, believing James mistrusted him all this time. However, it isn't something as simple as trusting Steve. He can do that, trust the friend he is getting to know again. This is something larger; it isn't just about Bucky-and-Steve. It's Hydra and fractured memories and a reprieve from cold orders and detached touches.

His gaze flicks up toward the ceiling, locating the tiny speakers through which JARVIS can address him and the mics that can receive James' call, if needed. He decides to take action in here before confronting the AI with the next step. He doesn't want an alert to go out to the others yet.

James still isn't entirely sure he'll end up following through.

He opens the small toolkit he set on the bathroom counter and pulls out what he needs. He crosses his metal arm over his chest, which allows the best access to the area around his elbow. With firm pressure exerted on key points above the joint, he is able to shift aside a few of the plates to gain access inside.

Using a long, thin pair of tweezers, he shifts aside the first wires he encounters. He flexes his fingers until some of the other moving components shift aside and allow better access to his target. Once he has the wires tucked out of the way, he sets the tweezers aside and picks up a needle-thin dental pick. He has to adjust his stance in order to see properly, but he quickly manages to get the necessary view reflected in the mirror. He carefully inserts the tip into the narrow gap between the components that carry signals from his fingertips. It's a difficult spot to reach by himself.

He can't see it when the tool's end hits the disk, but he feels a very faint vibration that lets him know he's managed to turn the device back on. He waits for long moments — plates open, his hand still wrapped around the handle of the dental pick. He glances up, meeting his own eyes in the mirror. Should he be doing this? He already knows it isn't smart. But can they afford to wait — hope that somehow Bruce and Thor will be able to put something together to track what they need to? How long will it take all of them to put together the pieces from datamined files to get a location? Even with JARVIS, it will take time. What happens when they find out that Hydra has moved on, taking Stark with them?

James nods at his reflection before setting aside the pick. With practiced movements, he shifts the wires back into their proper places and shuts the plates on his arm so that they lay smooth again. He rubs his thumb over the surface above the little transmitter.

_"What is it?"_

_"Just for us."_

He puts the toolkit together and sticks it in the cabinet drawer. As he steps out of the bathroom, JARVIS says, "Mr. James, I believe I am detecting a signal from your person."

James turns his eyes to the tiny, barely noticeable cameras. "I turned it on," he says.

"Sir?"

He rolls his head to the side, stretching his tense neck. With a sigh, he suggests, "See what you can get from it? It's a..."

"The encryption..." The AI's voice is lower than normal, a hint of emotion James hasn't heard before when they interact. "Is this... Sir's work?"

"Yeah." James links his fingers behind his head as he continues to stretch. "Yeah, it was a... gift, I s'pose. There wasn't a lot of unsupervised time, but... It was late." He isn't sure why he's able to speak this openly about it, even if it is still hard to come up with the words. He has the urge to explain. As if... JARVIS is more than a creation though, isn't it? Isn't _he?_ JARVIS is something _more_ than just bits of code, and that fits so well with he's learned about Stark; making magic with science. "He said only we'd know. I ain't told anyone about it."

"I am attempting to follow the signal's path. Perhaps you should discuss this with Captain Rogers?"

James gives into the urge to roll his eyes. "Yeah. I know."

He rubs his arm as he exits the bedroom and crosses through the apartment. "Stevie on the communal floor?"

"He is, shall I alert him?"

"Only if he's leaving."

James doesn't hurry his steps on his way down the hall. He opts for the stairs instead of the elevator; it allows him longer to think. He's trying to pull forward the memory dancing at the edges of his mind to get a clear look at it. There's a knot of emotion associated with it, sticking beneath his breastbone and threatening to seize his breath.

 _"Are you—?"_ The Merchant's mouth snapped shut with an audible click. His reaching hands returned to his sides. Although his posture was compliant, there was longing in his gaze. Blue-glazed eyes roamed over the Asset. The gaze was more than assessing, it lingered no longer on the arm than anywhere else.

The Asset found itself — _himself_ — unsure how to respond. After a moment, he stepped farther into the room and extended his arm. Something sparked under the dislodged wrist plate; the unwanted feedback spiked sharply through his arm, but the Asset barely blinked. 

Rather than directing the Asset to the chair for maintenance, the Merchant reached out to take the metal hand between his palms. The damaged wrist sparked again; the Merchant flinched but didn't let go.

 _"I require maintenance,"_ the Asset said.

The Merchant slowly slid one hand farther up the arm, supporting the damaged wrist. He didn't flinch the next time sparks flew, but his expression pinched. His other hand shifted, so smoothly that the Asset wasn't sure how the man's hand had slid over to slot his thumb between the Asset's thumb and palm. It wasn't a necessary touch. The Merchant still had not moved them to the chair.

The Asset continued to stand still, for the first time noticing how stiff he held his limbs. That was not something he should have noticed, there was no reason for him to stand any other way. The Merchant's gaze found the Asset's again, the blue haze mist-thin, revealing the rich brown of his irises.

 _"You're alright,"_ the Merchant breathed; it sounded like a question. His expression didn't match with the words the Asset usually heard: _Can you function? What is the damage? What is your efficacy?_

The Asset found himself hesitating, unsure how he was supposed to answer. He eventually settled for a short, affirmative nod. He glanced down when he felt the increased pressure of the Merchant's hand around his own. After a moment, the pressure eased. The pale thumb moved slowly over the swell of the Asset's palm.

Finally the Merchant moved them to the chair and worktable, maintaining contact with at least one hand at all times.

Sometime later, the Merchant bent over the Asset's arm, using pliers to straighten the edges of the plates. The Asset watched, attentive — not curious, curiosity was unnecessary. The work was done in silence, although th Asset had the vague sense that had not always been the case. He focused on watching the Merchant's actions. 

The sudden pause of movement caught his attention before the low, almost inaudible words. _"You're okay,"_ the Merchant breathed. His gaze remained on the Asset's wrist, eyes hidden by his half-closed eyelids and how his head was bowed. _"I thought— I was scared."_

There was no response to that. The Asset continued to stare at the bowed head. In another heartbeat, the Merchant continued his work, expression blank when the Asset next saw it. The blue glaze was back, more intense than before. The Merchant turned away and used both hands to sort through the equipment at his side. The Asset stared down at his own hand and watched as his fingers curved inward, his thumb sliding across the air in mimicry of the man's touch.

James nearly trips on the top stair as the phantom touch runs along his arm. He pauses as he sucks in a breath and takes a moment to study the image left in his mind. He can see the unnatural blue shining so clearly in his memory. The man that had looked at the Asset, who had been under the influence of brainwashing, somehow still managed to show compassion. Stark had looked at the Asset and seen James.

 _I can't let this go on,_ James thinks, determination welling up within him. He skims his fingers along the metal plates again, then starts up the last flight of stairs to reach the common area.

Steve is getting up from the couch when James arrives. The blond quirks an eyebrow in silent question when their gazes meet.

"We might have a lead," James announces bluntly.

He can see the shift from friend to Captain. "What is it?"

James rolls his left shoulder and raises his arm a little. "I turned on a transmitter," he admits.

Steve's eyes widen in shock. "What?" He looks torn between worry and frustration. "Did you know there was something in your arm?" At James' nod, the blond's eyebrows furrow together, irritation and hurt overtaking the initial worry. "Buck, why didn't you say anything?"

James cradles his metal elbow with his flesh hand, thumb stroking instinctively over the surface. He shifts his gaze over Steve's shoulder.

"It was something... private. It ain't Hydra's," he mutters. "Not really."

After a beat, Steve sucks in a quiet gasp. "Tony."

"Yeah."

They stand in silence for a while, the implication of that settling in.

Eventually Steve clears his throat. "Alright. JARVIS, do you have a reading on whatever this is?"

"Yes, Captain. It is actively transmitting an encrypted signal. Although it is not an exact match to any of Sir's previous codes, I recognize his work. I am attempting to find its end point now."

Steve drags his hands over his face, obscuring his expression. With a sigh, he moves his hands to his hips. He meets James' gaze and gives a confident nod. "Let's be ready. If they're awake, let the others know we're exploring this option, JARVIS. Otherwise I think it's best we all try to get some rest. With a little luck, we'll have something to work with in...?"

"I believe I should have something by morning, Captain," JARVIS assures.

~

_"Barnes. You're... Barnes?"_

The blue glowed only from the man's chest. The Asset remembered the glow from his eyes. Now, he only saw brown. The Merchant wore a confused expression. His fingers curled in towards his palm although his hand was raised, as if reaching for the Asset.

The Asset was not supposed to speak unnecessarily. He asked, _"Who?"_

The Merchant tilted his head, brow furrowing as he stared closely at the Asset. Slowly, as if feeling out the words, he said, _"You... That's your name."_

 _"No,"_ the Asset corrected.

The Merchant scrunched his eyes shut and hunched in on himself. _"No, no._ You're _wrong."_ He shook his head. _"It's not right."_

The Asset stood in place. There was no reason for him to go closer if the Merchant was not prepared to perform his job. The Asset felt his fingers twitch. His gaze slid toward the camera in the corner. They directed him here for the review of his arm, to ensure no equipment was damaged during his recent mission. It was the only reason he was here.

 _"Your name,"_ the Merchant muttered. He stared blankly at the floor. He had his hands curled around his elbows. _"It's... important."_

The Asset stuck out his left arm. _"Maintenance,"_ the word burst past his lips.

The Merchant looked up at him, wide-eyed. Metal fingers curled inward as the Asset kept his arm outstretched. He stared at the man in front of him, waiting. Silently he urged the man to do his job; if he didn't, the Asset would be brought to another.

After eighty-three seconds, the Merchant unfolded himself and reached for the extended arm. His hands trembled in the air yet seemed to steady as soon as they brushed the metal.

For approximately seven minutes, they operated in silence in a normal routine. The Asset sat, the Merchant settled at his side, a tray of tools was pulled out of a drawer.

The panels of the Asset's arm were open, skewing the image of the red star and leaving the inside open to his elbow. He watched the steady movements of the Merchant, the confident hold on each tool, the concentration on his face as he peered inside. There was no hesitation — until there suddenly was.

The Merchant froze, a small frown curving down his lips as he stared inside the arm. He moved the tools, separating the wires, and prodded deeper than he had been. The Asset glanced down, trying to determine the reason for the reaction.

Barely audible, the Merchant murmured, _"I was scared."_

The Asset felt his breath catch in his throat. He couldn't move, the missable words tugged at a wisp of memory.

The Merchant's voice was stronger but barely any louder when he spoke. _"Your name is Barnes. There's... someone."_ He began to work again, movements slower but no less confident. _"Steve. You need... Steve."_

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And thus, the "pen-pal device" that started this insanity.
> 
> When in doubt, I wrote flashbacks/memories when sprint-writing. 
> 
> As said last chapter, the plan is to post a chapter daily. If I fall behind, expect catch-up on the weekend. Thank you everyone for your awesome support in comments, kudos, and bookmarks -- it means so much to me!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Action! *jazz hands*

"Buck!" The sound of Steve's voice brings him immediately out of sleep into full alertness. James rolls out of bed, pulling the knife from under his pillow.

"What is it?"

"JARVIS reports an anomaly in the airspace over the harbor. I want everyone geared up and ready in the conference room."

"Got it."

James pulls out his gear and quickly strips out of his sweats. He quickly dresses in his under-armor and tactical gear. His knife goes into the holster by his hip as he grabs additional gear on his way out of the room.

Everyone is in the conference room within five minutes of Steve's call to James' room. Overall they look alert and edgy, clearly no one knows exactly what the warning is about.

"Do we have a visual, JARVIS?" Steve asks.

The AI brings up a display that shows nothing but open air. It only takes a moment for James to realize something is off, though. Looking closely, he can see the shimmer of distortion in the feed.

"Stealth technology," Natasha says, noticing the same thing.

"If that's the case, what was the tip-off?" Clint asks.

JARVIS replies, "I noticed an attempt to access my systems ten point seven minutes ago. The attempts to hack have continued, but will not be successful."

"You sound awful sure of yourself." Sam sounds skeptical.

"Sir ensured protocols that would lock _all_ remote access in case of tampering, were he to be out of contact for more than four months. There is no way to reset access unless in the presence of the relevant servers. Additionally, the individual must be capable of conducting the appropriate sequence."

The AI continues, "In attempting to locate the source of the attack, I noticed the abnormality within the city limits. Although I am unable to fully penetrate the cloaking of these systems, I am able to detect a signature line of code that traces back to Sir's work on a stealth system developed for the US Navy four years ago."

The statement triggers a sinking feeling. 

Natasha moves for the door, glancing over her shoulder to snap, "We need to move, now."

They're all moving before anyone questions the order. Steve's confused expression clears up almost immediately. "It's headed here."

James glances briefly at his elbow, thinking of the transmitter within. He picks up his pace, jogging around Steve and Natasha, and launches into a full-out sprint when he has room to move. He shoves the stairwell door open and ignores the slamming sound it makes as it flies open. He hears Steve hot on his heels and more footsteps not far behind that.

"Not trying to sacrifice myself," he shouts, directing it at Steve.

"I know!"

He smiles briefly, glad that his friend latched onto the logic of making sure James is clear of the Tower first. Hopefully the incoming attack is specifically focused on the signal he's transmitting.

As he slams through the door leading into the quinjet hangar at the top of the building, JARVIS announces, "Heat signatures indicate imminent missile launch. Activating shields to deflect damage away from civilians."

James dashes for the quinjet, neatly leaping up the ramp. He's halfway to the pilot's chair before Steve reaches him.

"Hey! I fly!" Clint shouts from the back. James ignores him, starting up the jet and keeping an eye on the display JARVIS has helpfully thrown up to display the movement of their incoming attackers.

Sam places himself behind James' chair as Barton slides into his usual place, grumbling a little. They can feel when the missiles hit the side of the building. James and Clint get the jet airborne before another assault.

"Shields have successfully contained the damage and minimized debris. I would still suggest diverting further attacks outside of heavily populated areas."

"Already on it, JARVIS," Clint replies.

Sam taps James' shoulder to get his attention. "I've got this, man." James nods and gives up his seat.

"We're on a straight shot out of the city," Clint reports. "How's the speed on that thing look?"

A display pops up showing what exactly is trailing them. Bruce mutters, "That's more than one thing."

Sam's eyes widen. "They look like the Iron Man suits!"

James watches the display as a half-dozen man-sized armors roll through the air and scatter to cover more space as they follow the quinjet.

"Hold on!" Clint calls a half second before pushing the jet into higher speed.

Natasha leans against the back of Clint's seat. "They're keeping pace," she notes.

"But they're not pulling out the full arsenal JARVIS detects," Sam added.

Sure enough, James can see the heavy artillery attached to the suits, yet only repulsor blasts from the palms or the small caliber guns are firing at them. The quinjet can easily handle that between its shields and being piloted by Sam and Clint.

The obvious reason hits James suddenly, and he doesn't know why he didn't connect it earlier. "They're after me. They won't go for the kill, if possible." He looks away from the display to meet Steve's grim gaze. "I don't think there's any reason for them to hold back, though." The Winter Soldier came back from any number of operations that should have killed him.

"There's six of them. We can handle it," his friend determines. He steps to the side a little to include the entire team in his sight. "Listen up, when we've got some space, I want Thor outside and striking down what he can. If lightning will disable them, that'll give us an advantage. Falcon, you're up, too. If we get some on the ground, I'll drop down. Barton, Buck, one of you stays in the jet, one on the ground. We need snipers in both positions."

"I'll see how much you need the Other Guy," Banner says, already pocketing his glasses and pulling off his shirt. "You might be fine."

"Never say never," Romanov quips. "I've got control of the jet, Cap. JARVIS and I will monitor things."

"Indeed," the AI intones. "I am also attempting to trace the origin of their launch. They appear to be unmanned."

Steve nods. "Good. No holding back."

"Also means remote control," Bruce says. "I doubt Hydra's going to entrust general AI to control this mission."

"If there's anything like Zola...?" Steve points out, "Plus they've clearly got some hold on Stark."

"Coming up on an open field, Cap," Sam interrupts.

Clint asks, "Barnes, you hit the ground with Cap?"

"Sure," James answers as he hits the button to lower the ramp for Thor.

~

The armors, they quickly find out, are _definitely_ dedicated to going after the Winter Soldier.

Thor knocks Mjölnir into two of the armors, sending them spinning into a rough impact with the ground. James and Steve drop from the jet. As soon as they've landed, the other armors dive low. The quinjet may not be necessary, with Wilson and Thor as fliers. Romanov reports that she and Barton will keep an eye from above.

An arrow lodges in the shoulder joint of one of the grounded armors. A moment later it explodes, unhinging the arm from its socket, although not fully dislodging its connection. James leaps onto its shoulders, knocking it back to the ground. He plants his knees on the upper arms and frees a knife to jam it into the gap of plating where neck meets torso. The armor twitches and manages to throw James off of it.

James rolls to his feet and draws his Sig Sauer. The armor holds out its working hand and the palm lights up with a charging repulsor. He fires off the gun, and though it doesn't seem to damage the armor plating its weapons, its blast is knocked off course, making it easy for James to duck out of reach. He uses the dodge to close in on the armor again, placing his Sig close to the opening he already stabbed before pulling the trigger. The armor's boots kick in, and it lifts off the ground a few feet, movement stuttering as its whole right side throws off sparks. Even unsteady, it moves its operational arm to send another blast at James.

In his peripheral vision, James sees another armor inbound. He fires at the armor in the air before turning to face the one speeding at him with arms outstretched. He manages to holster his gun before he's tackled. James jabs his metal fingers under the armor's jaw and pries at the edge. He only pays partial attention to the fact that the armor is carrying him into the air. In short order he manages to yank free part of the metal jaw and yank at the wires he finds underneath. Using a knife with his flesh hand, he stabs at more of the exposed components.

The armor rolls, the sounds of whining repulsors and clicking mechanisms catching unnaturally fill the air. James aims his metal fingers at the chest next, where he can see strips of light leading to a thick plate where a sternum would be. He has a harder time digging his fingers into the location, especially without something to brace the armor against. It occurs to him, just before the armor lurches alarmingly to the side, that he should have considered how close they were to the ground.

He slams back first into the earth, the armor's weight pushing him along. James keeps his head up and grits his teeth, letting his shoulders take the brunt of the continued impact with the dirt as they skid along. A loud clang reverberates above him and suddenly he's not being pushed through the dirt anymore. The armor still has its arms locked around him, but they've been knocked to their side thanks to Steve's throw with the shield. James pushes his advantage and rolls the armor more fully onto its back. He jams his metal fist at the chest plate. Two quick punches dent the covering, then he tries to jab his fingers in again. This time it works, and he hooks his grip in as he starts to pull the armor apart.

As soon as he has the metal back a few inches, a familiar blue glow spills across his hand. He ignores the sick little lurch of his stomach; he focuses on the fight and finding the quickest way to dismantle the power source. The armor's palms heat up, hot enough for James to feel through his leather armor, and he knows what's coming. He doesn't stop digging into the torso and searching for a good grip to yank out the insides. He doesn't move quite quick enough. Twin blasts of pain slam into his back — burning and a pain like a sledgehammer smashing into his ribs. With a yell, he manages to wreck enough of the armor's insides to kill the power.

Once the arms loosen their grip on him, James pushes himself to his feet. He grits his teeth against the agony running up his back. He searches for his next target and notes that two other deactivated armors are strewn on the ground. Thor's smashing apart a fourth, and Steve and Sam are teaming up on the fifth. The sixth—

"Barnes — five o'clock, high!" Natasha snaps in his ear. 

He somersaults forward and rolls, ignoring the burn and pull of his back. He hears the whine of repulsors sear through the air as he gets to his feet. By the time he gets into a crouch, the sixth armor is curving up and back around to head at him again. This armor is apparently different from the previous ones, as its chest panels shift to open over its sternum where the power source becomes exposed. This one isn't holding back the big guns. The shoulder panels rearrange to free up space for miniature missile launchers. The first round fires once the armor stabilizes itself. 

James runs, cutting sideways to avoid the obvious line of targeting while also drawing the focus away from the other members of his team. He doesn't look back, though he hears the armor adjust and come closer even as he works to put distance between them. He can hear the whir and whine of a repulsor charge and he's pretty sure that's coming from the armor's core. He could stop, try and get a bead on the thing and bring it down before it fires, but he has the sense that it will be easier to get a shot after. It's not ideal, and he'd certainly like to avoid any injuries like the other ones — _this would be worse, so much worse,_ he knows — but his odds are still better to let the thing take its shot.

"James, drop!" He doesn't even register who tells him this time, just follows the order and lets himself fall forward with his metal arm bent up to catch himself.

The blast releases above him, sounding loud and cutting through the air where he had been. He hears Steve's heavy breaths before the shield comes into play and blocks against the repulsor beam with a sound like a hiss. James rolls onto his back, withdrawing his Sig Sauer and judging where he needs to move in order to take aim.

"Cap, give me a couple inches to the right!" Steve responds with action immediately, and James only needs another moment to aim at the stunning brilliance of the energy beam's source. He shoots in quick succession, adjusting his aim minutely in attempts to find the weak point.

The beam sputters and the armor reels midair. Steve moves to keep his shield between the armor and themselves, though the light doesn't make a return. Better able to see now that the central beam has died, James aims more precisely at the components exposed in the chest. He's damaged the torso plating already, making it impossible for the armor to cover itself.

It doesn't go down easily, but by the time the armor is stuttering up and down as well as listing into an uncoordinated spin, Steve can fling the shield. It smashes into the sternum with a sharp crack, and the armor drops with a heavy thud.

James looks over the area before letting his gun arm drop. The motion pulls at his back and he grimaces.

"We're clear, you can land," Steve directs at the quinjet. He glances back at James, and his lips thin. "Buck needs some medical attention."

When James tries to wave him off, Steve just raises his eyebrows in silent challenge. James responds by rolling his eyes.

Wilson glides in for a landing. He looks between the two super soldiers for a moment before shaking his head. "Man, don't argue."

Thor joins them, expression sober. "See to your injuries, my friend. We will see to the collection of these soulless armors."

"Barnes, let me take a look at you," Banner says in his ear.

James gives in without further argument, walking away from the trio as they start to survey the area and debate what they need to do.

"What a mess," Clint comments as he passes James on the ramp.

Natasha exits behind him. "Could have been a lot worse in the city."

"Trust me, I know we got off easy," the archer replies. "Remember who our equipment's from."

James glances back at them as he reaches the top of the ramp. He pauses there, considering the comment even though it isn't new knowledge. 

"That looks painful. Let's try getting your shirt off." Bruce draws his attention, and James nods, going through the motions as he continues to think about the quality of the Avengers' gear versus the armors they've just fought. "You might want to— Okay, then," Bruce mutters when James pulls off his outer armor without taking his time. "Let me take care of the shirt," he interrupts.

James drops his jacket to the floor. He doesn't hide his grimace of pain as his muscles bunch and move. "Sure. Sounds good," he hisses between grit teeth.

Bruce has him sit straddling a bench in the back area of the jet. He digs out a pair of scissors from a medical kit and warns that he's going to take his time to get around the burns that fused the cloth into James' wounds. James just nods his acceptance and focuses on rerunning observations of the battle in his mind. The adrenaline is fading fast and the pain is starting to get to him, still a fairly new sensation when for so long in his memories he was not allowed that reaction. To admit pain was unthinkable. What could a tool feel? Unless broken, what did it matter?

He thinks of the armors' joints, how there were too many of them exposed and revealing weaknesses. It hadn't exactly been easy to claw his way into the chest plating, but surely there could have been more of a barrier. The power source — _arc reactor,_ he recalls the name now — was so near the surface. It could have been placed deeper, been better covered. The final armor he and Steve destroyed apparently needed the closer surface location in order to use the reactor as a weapon, but none of the others had indicated the capability.

Bruce murmurs an apology as he pulls a strip of cloth out of the edges of a wound just beneath the attachment of his metal shoulder. James winces but doesn't otherwise let it distract him.

James has seen footage of the Iron Man armors. No iteration he's seen had the sort of open places that these armors did, and surely movements would be more challenging in the full coverage for a human.

"JARVIS, what can you show me of Stark's armor specs?" he asks. Bruce pauses momentarily, also looking at the holo display JARVIS promptly brings up in front of them.

"Sir's designs for his suits are overall superior to what I am able to currently analyze of the enemy armors that attacked you. There are similarities in appearance, but I calculate the seemingly incomplete plating to be 60% efficient compared to Sir's Mark II and III."

Bruce is back to working on James back, but he comments, "Raises the question if this is an intentional design flaw."

"It is possible," JARVIS replies.

James reaches up to flick through the images. "The... blue wasn't always there," he explains quietly. "He wasn't as lucid when I last saw him." James is remembering some things more clearly. Complete memories are still largely inaccessible, but he has impressions of certain moments. The blue, blue eyes are haunting.

"It takes time," Bruce murmurs. "But maybe... these flaws in design offer some hope."

James remains silent at that, focusing back on the provided information as his back is cleaned. He starts watching video, the only closeups available are from training sessions where cameras were best positioned to find the details.

"We're bringing these things back with us," Steve says over the comm. "Don't think it's a good idea to just leave them lying around."

"Thank you, Captain," JARVIS says. "There is lab space available for their containment and study. I will endeavor to work with Dr. Banner, Agent Romanov, and Master Sergeant Wilson to garner information as to their origins."

"Of course," Natasha responds as the others voice their agreement.

"Any luck with tracing the signal?" James asks, already guessing the answer.

"Unfortunately not, Mr. James. The encryption covers communication between the armors to allow their coordination, but attempts to follow the origins lead to a great many false leads. It will take some time."

"Well, that's not a dead end. Thanks, JARVIS," Steve says.

~


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which there is a Pepper and a Rhodey!

It's been an hour since the Avengers returned to the Tower, and James had taken the time to wash as best he could without hitting his open wounds. He walks into the kitchen shirtless, allowing the air to hit his slowly scabbing wounds; cloth irritates the already strong itch of his skin knitting together. 

Natasha is the only one currently available for company when he walks in. Silently she fills a glass of juice for him and hands it over.

"Coffee's just starting," she says. "How's your back?"

"Itchy," he replies with a small grimace. He rolls his shoulders uncomfortably, but regrets it when that changes the itch to something sharp. "I'll live."

She gives him a mildly amused look. 

"Pardon me, Ms. Potts is on her way up," JARVIS announces.

"Did she find out herself, or did you inform her?" Natasha asks without surprise. James has met the Stark Industries CEO all of two times since coming to the Tower with Steve.

"I alerted Ms. Potts of more of the details, though news reports did catch her attention."

The footage the media had access to was little more than unclear, shaky video of the explosion that the upper floors' shield systems contained.

"What happened?" carries down the hall at nearly the same time that James can hear the elevator doors open. Natasha waves James towards a chair as she pulls down a mug and sets it beside the coffee machine. Pepper Potts pauses inside the kitchen doorway, hands on her hips. She looks between the two of them before focusing on Romanov. "JARVIS says there were... suits that attacked?"

"Yes. JARVIS gave us enough warning to lead them away from the city." She expertly pulls the coffee carafe from under the machine to pour a cup, then slips it back underneath before the next trickle of coffee comes through. She turns to hand the cup to Pepper before making her way to the refrigerator. 

James moves over a chair at the kitchen counter. Pepper frowns at them both a moment. Her shoulders droop a little as she lets out a sigh and takes the empty seat.

"I'm trying to understand why I'm looking at something that seems very much like Tony's Iron Man suit," Pepper says as she pulls out her phone and displays an image of one of the deactivated armors. "How is this possible?"

James looks to Romanov, letting her field this question. She doesn't answer right away, bringing a carton of cream and the sugar bowl over to the counter. She sets the items down and meets Pepper's unimpressed stare head-on.

"Natasha..."

"We have a lead," Natasha says gently. Her expression is softer than she usually allows.

Pepper inhales shakily. She wraps her hands around the coffee mug, masking the tremor of her fingers. "How?" she whispers.

"I saw him," James admits quietly. She whips her head around to stare at him with wide eyes, expression quickly taking on a betrayed look. "I'm sorry. I didn't realize."

"We're looking for him right now, Pepper," Natasha assures. She places a hand on the woman's wrist to draw her attention. "Everyone's working on it."

"What _happened?_ " Pepper asks, gaze darting back to James. The betrayed and shocked expression is gone, but although she is attempting to keep a brave face, he can see the fear in her eyes.

He doesn't know if he should answer.

Natasha intervenes. "We're going to figure that out. JARVIS is already working on possible locations."

"You should have told me about this as soon as you realized who had him!" Pepper's eyes narrow in anger.

Steve and Clint walk into the kitchen during her outburst. They don't look surprised to see her. James silently points them to the coffee pot.

"Ms. Potts," Steve greets with a polite nod. Barton makes a beeline for the coffee. "I'm sorry we didn't talk to you earlier. We're only just now putting together the information."

She huffs quietly but finally takes her hand away from her mug to mix in cream and sugar. "I understand, I do. But I— This is the second time." She visibly swallows. "Last time he came back with a time bomb in his chest," she whispers, voice hoarse.

Natasha's fingers squeeze gently around the other woman's wrist. "And Tony showed he has a way of turning things to his advantage. We'll get him out."

"We'll bring him home," Steve promises, tone determined. James feels his lips tick up in a small smile as his friend shifts into a distinctly Captain America Promises You pose. Steve never realizes he does it. Clint seems to notice, if his grin is anything to go by.

"You'd better," Pepper sniffs. She sits up straight and nods tightly. "There are already inquiries about what the images show. We haven't put together a statement, but is there anything you want us to say — or not say?"

"Maria will have an idea," Natasha suggests. James thinks the name is familiar, but he isn't certain who the woman is.

"I was thinking about that," Pepper agrees. "Alright. Keep me in the loop." She stands up and smooths out the creases on her skirt. She picks up her mug, apparently to take it with her. "Oh, Colonel Rhodes is negotiating to take immediate leave to assist."

"JARVIS?" Steve asks, unable to hide his sigh.

She offers a faint smile. "Yes, JARVIS." She looks around at the group, expression sobering. "I'm trusting you. Don't let him down."

James stares at her and doesn't look away when she meets his gaze. He doesn't say the words that wait on the back of his tongue. _I won't. Not again._

She nods and takes her leave.

Clint opens the fridge and rummages around. "So, I'm best at the sniping and tactical rescue plans. Seems like my assignment at the moment is food prep?"

Natasha rolls her eyes and turns to elbow him in the side. "I'm heading down to the lab. Bruce and Sam probably already started. We'll let you know what we find."

"Good luck," Steve says as she passes him.

"Don't need luck, we have JARVIS," she responds.

~

James is in the gym lifting weights when JARVIS directs him to the communal dining room. He probably has time to wash up, but he decides to grab a towel and head upstairs as he wipes off.

From down the hall he can hear the voice of their new arrival, Colonel Rhodes. He has yet to meet the man, since he was in the gym when Rhodes arrived. When James enters the room, Natasha and Clint glance over. The archer dramatically pinches his nose and makes a disgusted face. James casually flips him off.

"We're glad to have you," Steve is saying to Rhodes. He glances at James and gives a nod of acknowledgment.

"I should have known about this immediately." Rhodes' voice carries the same kind of threat that Pepper's had. "I'm not happy to find this out only when JARVIS contacted me. Should I ask if you were going to include me on this?" Steve's wince isn't the best response. "Right."

Rhodes turns and takes a look at James. After a few moments, during which Rhodes sizes him up, he prompts, "Barnes?"

"Colonel Rhodes," he greets.

"You always this sweaty?" Rhodes asks, looking reluctantly amused.

James rubs the towel over the side of his face self-consciously. "Sorry...?"

"Everyone here?" Bruce asks as he enters the room with Thor and Sam behind him.

"Lay it out for us," Steve says, moving closer to the table. Everyone else follows suit, circling around as JARVIS brings up a holographic image of Earth above the middle of the table.

"JARVIS broke down the additional layers of encryption once we gained access to the receivers in the armors," Bruce explains. "We've got a location for their origin."

JARVIS enlarges the globe and zooms in on an area of wide open sea in the Pacific ocean. The focus is on an area to the west of the Hawaiian islands.

"What are we looking at?"

The globe fades away as the table lights up with zoomed images centered on a thin ring of land. The satellite images show the land as rocky, without greenery. Water fills the middle of what may be an island.

"This is what remains of a volcano," Bruce says, tapping the picture. "JARVIS is getting interference when trying to get close scans, but there's enough of a trail to lead us to here."

The AI speaks up. "Upon closer examination from the satellite footage, it appears that there is a man-made structure beneath the surface of the water at the center. There is a void of feedback for four point five kilometers around the visible land. Beyond that, I am able to take take readings from much of the surrounding area."

"So your attempts are being blocked purposefully," Rhodes determines.

"I believe so, Colonel."

"Uh, volcano? Underwater base? This is very James Bond," Clint says. Natasha sends him a skeptical stare. He shrugs unapologetically. "You gotta admit, it's a little tropey, even for us."

"Any suggestions for how to proceed?" Steve asks.

Bruce exchanges glances with the others. He removes his glasses and sticks them in his shirt pocket with a sigh. "We can make some guesses, but there's a lot of information we're missing in terms of planning an effective infiltration."

"We'll need a closer look," Natasha agrees.

Steve nods. He glances up and prompts, "JARVIS?"

The AI responds, "Yes, Captain. May I suggest Colonel Rhodes takes advantage of access to the Mark XIII? He will be able to bring us closer observation and likely more relevant details."

"I..." Rhodes blinks rapidly, eyes wide in shock. "What do you mean I have access?"

"Sir had initiated your access to Iron Man suits since Mark VIII, Colonel. Were Sir available, it would be required to receive his override. However, the length of his disappearance allows me to give you access at your convenience."

"Damn it," he breathes, eyes closing briefly. No one interrupts the moment, all aware of the significance of Stark entrusting his armor to someone else. "Right." Rhodes leans over the table and moves the images around to get a good overall look at the location they want to focus on. "So JARVIS and I can scope out the scene. Do we need to continue to plan from New York? What about Tony's Malibu estate?"

"Our gear is here," Steve points out. "If we can figure out what we need, we can relocate for planning elsewhere."

"I believe," JARVIS says, "that the Colonel may fly out to the designated area. When we have gathered enough data, we may inform you here. A rendezvous at the Malibu property will then be appropriate." 

"Think about anything in particular you need me to look into," Rhodes says. "Jay, what timeline are we looking at?"

"Six and a half hours, Colonel. May I suggest a brief rest before you depart, however?"

Rhodes glares pointedly at a spot on the wall that James knows houses one of JARVIS' cameras. "Really?"

"The suit is not conducive to sleep. You have not slept since receiving my notice sixteen hours ago, when you would have already been awake for seven hours."

"You knowing all that isn't creepy at all," Sam mutters.

"I am merely invested in your well-being," JARVIS replies.

Steve speaks over Clint's coughed _"Skynet"_ ; "As much as I'd like to get going as soon as possible, we all could use some time to recharge. Once we have our information, we'll jump right into things."

James keeps a frustrated sigh to himself. He understands JARVIS' point, but James has _decades_ of experience pushing through much worse than long sleepless hours. No one seems to have been worked to the point of sleep deprivation. All of the Avengers are the sort of people to keep going as long as possible, and they haven't even hit that point.

James wants to argue that he's had nothing but "rest" since their return with the deactivated armors. He hasn't been of much use at this point. There's been no suggestion that his fragmented memories or knowledge of Hydra would contribute to their search. Natasha, Sam, Bruce, and JARVIS have been on point, and now Rhodes will take the lead.

Clint seems to have a similar restlessness. "Is there a way to follow Rhodes and help with surveillance?"

"I am sorry, Agent Barton, but I would not advise that course of action before we have further understanding of the technological capabilities of our target."

"I thought the quinjet was nearly undetectable?" Sam says.

"The stealth capabilities of the Mark XIII are more precise, and it is easier to miss a human-sized aircraft."

"How about a compromise," Rhodes suggests. That he isn't arguing further with the AI suggests his familiarity with JARVIS. "I take the next two hours before heading out. As I get closer, a small team can follow so that if JARVIS can establish a safe zone, we have a second party to investigate what we're facing."

James cocks his head to the side and stares at Steve expectantly. His friends looks to him immediately, obviously knowing that James will want in on this. The blond purses his lips in thought, glancing around the table.

"Right. Let's try that. Sam, you want to be on the team?"

"Count me in."

Steve glances at James, who nods in response.

To the side, Clint and Natasha are running through a rapid-paced game of rock-paper-scissors. In short order, he pumps his fist with a cry of victory. Steve attempts (and fails) to hide his amusement. "Clint?"

"I'm in," he says. He sidesteps Natasha's playful attempt to elbow him in the side.

"Right. Then I'm grabbing some chow and taking a nap before JARVIS tries to revoke my access." Rhodes gives a general wave to the group as he heads out the door.

Eyes on James, Clint pinches his nose again and waves his other hand in front of his face. "Take a shower, Pigpen," Clint orders.

"He's not wrong," Sam says, wrinkling his nose.

James turns for the door as he rolls his eyes. "Yeah, I get it."

"Take a shower and catch some sleep!" Steve calls after him.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Originally Natasha was embarassingly poetic and the first scene included:  
> \---  
> "Last time he came back with a time bomb in his chest," Pepper whispers, voice hoarse.
> 
> Natasha's fingers squeeze gently around the other woman's wrist. "And he made it a star. We'll get him out."  
> \---
> 
> Damn. Writing sprints brings out weird lines sometimes.


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Oh look! It's a chapter where hotrodngold saved my behind & wrote transition-y material so I could have something cohesive! (They wrote what's between the first paragraph after the ~ and the first dialogue.)
> 
> Remaining changes were my own, so any errors are mine.

In the quinjet's cockpit, Barton and Romanov are busy finalizing plans with JARVIS. James crouches alongside the edge of the ramp, Steve to his right. Thor and Wilson stand ready on the opposite side. Banner hovers nearby, stripped to his shorts. Rhodes is outside, using his suit to scout the area and monitor any changes; so far he hasn't reported any divergence from the initial evaluation from seven hours ago.

"Coming in on the drop point," Romanov announces.

"Pop it," Steve responds.

The ramp's locks disengage, and it starts to drop open. Thor brings Mjölnir up and salutes the team. "Be well, my friends." He slides down the ramp without his typical battle cry. They plan to make minimal noise on their approach, needing any advantage they can get in order to have some time to work their way inside the undersea base.

"Ready?" Steve asks.

Wilson adjusts his goggles before giving a thumbs up. "Watching your back." He jogs down the ramp and jumps.

When Steve turns to him, James raises an expectant eyebrow. "After you." James needs no further prompting to launch himself down and off the ramp.

He's halfway to the ocean when he hears Steve follow. James snaps open his parachute to adjust his descent toward the ocean at the center of the volcano's remnants. There is a partially hidden accessway resting a mere two feet beneath the sea. James disengages from the 'chute and lands in a crouch on the metal surface, his chin dipping into the water.

"Straight ahead, fifteen feet, Barnes," Rhodes directs. He flies a wide circle around the interior of the rocks. 

"The Other Guy isn't going to wait for long," Banner warns over the comm.

"On it," James acknowledges. He finds the control panel Rhodes detected. He pulls on his goggles and activates the camera to allow JARVIS a look as he ducks under the water. Up close he can see a screen and a ten-digit keypad. He lifts his head out of the water to report his findings.

"Coming in to see what JARVIS can do."

James moves away so that Rhodes has clear access. He readies his M4 Carbine and scans the area. On the opposite side of the platform, Steve's taken up position to survey the area and stand guard. Romanov stands on another section of the platform.

Barton's voice comes over the comm; "Do we have something for the Hulk to do yet? 'Cuz Banner's looking more than a little green up here."

"Give me a minute!" Rhodes responds.

James looks down at the water again and begins to slowly pace the area. He stands over the seam where two plates come together. He imagines, like their scans suggested, that this will lead them to a hangar where water can be cleared before opening into the full base. They definitely don't need the Hulk punching holes through anything.

He feels the vibration second before Rhodes gives a celebratory _whoop!_

"Hulk, _don't_ smash!" Steve orders. "We're getting our opening. Avengers, assemble!"

~

Once the team's in the airlock, JARVIS is able to work his way into the base-wide system. He blocks communications and disables the main alarm. Inside the base, the team splits up. James ends up paired with Rhodes. Romanov and Wilson are focused primarily on data recovery, whereas everyone else is focused on locating and extracting Stark. They head off with the understanding of a two-hour rendezvous.

The guards at the airlock aren't the only resistance they encounter, but it isn't until a squadron of Hydra soldiers armed with MKs spill out of a side door a few meters down the hall that he and Rhodes have to put any effort into it.

Hydra's firing line is disorganized, and they barely take enough time to settle into a staggered pattern before they open fire. Rhodes doesn't flinch, planting his feet in the middle of the hallway and raising the armor's gauntlets. James raises his left arm to protect his head and switches his rifle for his sidearm, charging the line even as he aims and takes headshots with his right hand.

It takes less than a minute to incapacitate them all, James interspersing violently disabling blows in between point-blank shots, Rhodes' repulsor blasts slamming combatants out of his reach into walls.

They advance, Rhodes taking the central path through the halls while James branches out and checks secondary doorways and halls. Many of the rooms show evidence of recently moved equipment; discolored floor areas with barely settled dust, file drawers left hanging open. This hadn't happened as a result of their incursion, though. He makes note of it; it's likely they'd moved part of the base recently.

Rhodes is making short work of the door locks by melting them with the suit's repulsors. It's both overkill and brutally efficient.

They finish off their current hallway, nothing but half-emptied cabinets and abandoned store rooms. Between this section of the base and the next is a heavy locking door with a central wheel to open it. It looks watertight. He and Rhodes share a look.

"See any sailors?" Bucky asks dryly, switching back to his rifle.

"Noticed that," Natasha answers.

Steve gives another affirmative. "This place is set up to allow containment for any leaks... and probably to allow partial flooding."

"JARVIS, any info on the safety protocols this place has?" Rhodes asks.

"I shall look into the matter, Colonel," JARVIS agrees.

James eyes the next bulkhead door they pass through with suspicion. They should be able to hear when it's activated, but that doesn't settle the uneasiness in his gut.

"How's the Hulk faring?"

As soon as Clint opens his channel, they can hear the angry roar of the Hulk.

"Well, he's having a blast slinging around the baddies. Don't know why they're just throwing themselves at us, but I won't complain if they're not bringing anything that can take the Big Guy down."

"You must be attracting most of their forces," Sam notes. "We haven't faced much in the way of opposition."

"As long as there aren't people trying to flee the scene," Steve warns. "Be on the lookout."

James finds a door that's locked and has to punch a massive dent in it in order to press his fingers in to pry the door open. He surveys the room quickly, noting the active computer screens and the light shining over a gurney with rumpled sheets. A small clang and a muffled curse draws his attention. He strides across the room, rifle at the ready.

He yanks open the door on the opposite wall; it opens into a tiny office where three figures wearing lab coats are attempting to hide behind the desk. When they see him, all eyes widen, and one of the men grabs at the woman's shoulder as he tries to cower back.

"Need help?" Rhodes asks from the hall.

James sighs dismissively. His silence seems to further unnerve the lab techs, and it only takes a gesture with his rifle to get them stumbling upright. Without letting them fully gain their balance, James steps forward and swiftly knocks the stock of his gun to each of their heads. Despite the urge to bash their brains in, he keeps to efficient singular blows.

Rhodes is farther down the hall when James rejoins him; the doors along the way have been opened.

"Colonel, I suggest taking a right at the corridor ahead and taking the stairs down two levels. I predict a search on that floor has a higher likelihood of yielding results."

James can hear a hint of hope in the other man's voice as he responds; "You found something?"

"Not precisely," JARVIS replies. "Sir would call this a... 'hunch.'"

Rhodes laughs quietly. "Good enough for me."

In the stairwell, James jumps down each section of stairs in a single leap while Rhodes takes the shortcut by dropping down the middle.

The hall they exit into seems to be better maintained, and James is immediately aware of increased activity. He and Rhodes fall into fighting stance, back to back for better coverage as a shout of alarm echoes from behind one of the doors. 

James counts eighteen soldiers decked out in body-armor flood the hallway on his side. It sounds like a similar number may be facing Rhodes.

"Can you handle it?" the colonel asks.

"And you?" he counters.

They don't speak after that. James barrels into the front line of five soldiers and slides to his knee to let the first round of bullets fly over his head. He opens fire on the secondary group to cause disarray before flipping backward and ramming his metal elbow into one of the men regaining his feet. James swings his M4 around to shoot while throwing a punch into the sternum of a man on his left.

The action quickly blurs together after that as he falls into a rhythm that is familiar. Later he will think back on the situation as uncomfortable, but for now he feels only calm. He sees his enemies, but there is no fear, and he has no reason to hesitate. There is a bloodlust that threatens to overtake him in the midst of battle, but James presses it down, thinks of the difference between desire and necessity. He is better than them, he reminds himself. He's survived and he wants them to bear witness to his freedom and control. 

James takes down the last soldier with a move worthy of Romanov; he slings aside his rifle to free his hands as he rolls forward and sends his legs up to catch the soldier around the neck. Balancing one-handed, he squeezes his legs in tight and throws his weight into dragging the woman down to the floor by her neck. Finally finishing his roll, James hovers above the downed soldier, one shin still pressing against her throat. He gets up after the combatant's face goes splotchy and her eyes roll back in her head.

Rhodes glances at him from where he's holding a trooper up by the throat. He releases him when the body goes limp, letting him slump into a heap on the ground.

James scans the hall for any movement and cocks his head as he listens for any indication that they have more resistance incoming.

"I have detected lifeforms in several rooms, numbering one to six in each group. I am unable to determine if they are armed. Highlighting their locations now, Colonel."

Rhodes motions for James to follow him. "Armor can take almost anything, let me take point, again," he says as he leads the way to a door left open by their attackers.

Two cleared rooms later, James holds out a hand in Rhodes' view to stop him; he doesn't ask why, just waits when James partially closes his eyes as he concentrates on what he's hearing. There's an unusual sound coming from beyond the door. JARVIS hasn't alerted them of anything abnormal, but there's something about the faint noise....

"Jay, you got anything?" Rhodes asks quietly.

"There is an unusual concentrated source of energy registering inside," JARVIS answers. "Otherwise, I do not detect anything unique compared to other rooms within this corridor."

James shakes off the déjà vu with a grimace as Rhodes resumes his movement forward. The room is locked, but he's able to grip the edges of the doors where the seam meets and pries them apart with the strength of the armor. Several gunshots go off, pinging harmlessly against the armor.

Rhodes steps into the room with his palms glowing. "Put it down."

James slides around the armor to get a look at the room. The lab tech holding the gun is unimportant. He tries to pinpoint the familiar sound that he can still faintly hear. His gaze rapidly scans over the area, taking in the screens filled with flashing warnings and a bar on each displaying _71% COMPLETE_. JARVIS is monitoring data transfer, Natasha's and Sam's focus, so James disregards the displays.

This lab does not have the same level of sterility as some of the others. The worktables here are set up with magnifying lights; a couple of soldering irons are set atop tables bearing singe marks. Thin, small tools lay out on trays; a stray circuit board looks to have been knocked aside, and James wonders where the other projects have gone. To the right there is a door, plain metal, of the sort that should lead to a supply room.

James lets Rhodes handle things in the lab while he approaches the door, rifle at the ready. He pauses mere inches from his destination. _That sound_

A strange sort of hum, but with the rhythm of ocean waves. It was a sound that ran quietly, but was easy to hear in the silence — and more and more often they were silent.

The Asset could not forget the man's voice, even when he forgot the man's designation. Once upon a time, he did not know when, the Merchant spoke a lot. His words fell rapid-paced, lilting up and down. He had grown quieter, but brighter. The blue spread from the center of his chest and spilled from his eyes. It would have been... beautiful, the Asset thought the word was, but there was also an emptiness. All too similar to a reflection he rarely saw of himself.

James takes a deep breath and reminds himself that he is just as likely to come face to face with an enemy combatant as he is to face the dazed expression of the shadow of Tony Stark. He isn't sure how he feels — distant, detached, maybe — yet narrowly focused on this moment. He can see the handful of minor dents in the metal door from where furniture or equipment bumped into it when moved. The doorknob isn't centered anymore, either, as if jammed hard from the side.

He turns the knob and cracks the door just enough that the latch cannot reengage. He braces the M4 in his right hand against his shoulder, steady and level, but his left arm hovers before the door for a long moment. He doesn't want to think about why he's hesitating. He isn't sure what he means to do.

Not until he fully opens the door and he can see inside.

The storage closet is perhaps thirty-six square feet, but further detail doesn't register. At the far side — _so close_ but more distant than they used to be — stands the man haunting his memories. He is different from the internet videos, the dossier he saw in SHIELD's old files, or even the candid images JARVIS shared.

The blue glow is brilliant, so bright that there is a haze around his eyes. James realizes, with a strange, sinking sensation, that the haze outshines the glow in his chest.

Their stares lock, neither man moving.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> 1) Action scenes are a bitch to write.
> 
> 2) I forgot I split this up into a cliffhanger. Whoops! You'll get the next chapter soon, don't worry!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Moment you've been waiting for. Chapter's a little longer this time. :)

Stark holds a pistol, raised and steady before him, but he doesn't look like a man who wants to shoot. He does not look scared or defiant. He just... is. James knows that look and remembers the associated feeling all too well, because that part of him, the _Asset_ , is not erased; it is now a ghost that continues to haunt him.

But he also remembers firm, expert touches along the panels of his arm, the smooth slide of a hand shifting into his own even when he could not understand the touch.

James lifts his left arm, straightening it and turning his palm up. His mouth is too dry to speak and his lips seem to stick together as he opens his mouth to lick them. Stark continues to stare at his face.

"I need your help," James says, voice little better than a croak. Distantly he feels himself lower his rifle. Stark glances down briefly, but his attention quickly returns to James' face. He has to try again. Although James hates the time associated with the word, he makes himself say, a little louder, "I need maintenance."

The shift happens slower than James expected. Stark's eyebrows curve inward, creases of confusion appearing on his previously stoic countenance. His bright eyes trail away from James' face, running down his neck, shoulder, and arm like a physical touch. James almost shivers, but his body remains still, his breathing somehow steady. He watches, patient and praying they aren't disturbed. 

Stark's head tips slightly to the side as his gaze narrows in on the extended hand. His own hands twitch, and he removes one from the pistol's grip. Stark's gun hand slowly lowers to his side as he takes a stiff step forward.

"Barnes?" Rhodes' voice comes in his ear rather than called across the room.

James silently thanks JARVIS, certain the AI is behind keeping this tenuous balance.

Barely moving his lips, James replies, "Need space. Wait."

He can hear the armor's restless movement, but no footsteps head his way.

Stark's back to scrutinizing James' face, eyes narrowed with no clear emotion apparent. He hasn't closed the distance between them by more than a couple feet. James hesitates to move closer on his own. He doesn't quite know how to read the situation; there are too many possible outcomes.

Stark frowns as he looks at the outstretched arm. He moves again, four short steps this time, still stiff but closing the gap a little more. His fingers twitch, curving just enough to mimic the form of what James recognizes as the grip of a screwdriver, which would be used to access the larger maintenance panel for the arm.

"Please," spills past James' lips without conscious thought. Stark flicks his gaze up, but almost immediately returns it to the arm. He moves again, short steps that move him at a snail's pace. 

Finally, _finally_ , his strides lengthen and the distance is less than a foot between Stark and James' outstretched hand. A knot clenches in James' chest as he waits.

Stark reaches out and wraps his fingers around the wrist joint.

The firm slide of fingers curling around his wrist. It was more than the perfunctory touch needed to maintain the equipment that is the Asset's arm. A flesh-and-blood thumb pressed against the swell of his metal palm, then dragged slowly along the edge. The Asset stared at the movement, bemused.

James stays still even though he wants to move — wants to pull Stark closer and get the hell out of here. Almost there, he needs another minute...

Stark slowly tugs at the wrist, prompting James to turn his hand so that the blue, blue gaze can examine the back of it.

"Problem!" Clint shouts over the comm. "Pretty sure they activated a—"

Alarms start blaring with the sound of a tornado siren. Stark jumps but doesn't let go of the arm. He looks up at James with a frown, expression curious.

"They're flooding the place," Sam announces. "It'll take some time, but we'd better clear out"

"Time to move, people. Rhodes, Buck, what's your status?"

James hears the armor approaching slowly. Rhodes answers, "We'll get clear. Not sure how willing Tony's going to be." The lack of surprised exclamations indicates that the news they found Tony had been passed along. James must have been limited from the broadcast.

"Come with me," he tells Stark. "We need to leave."

Stark's eyes narrow as he scrutinizes James' face. His fingers tighten around the metal wrist. The blue glow of his eyes fills the air between them, bright enough to reflect off the plates of James' arm.

Rhodes transmits a heavy sigh before taking the final step that puts him in sight. Stark's gaze immediately darts beyond James' shoulder, and his eyes widen.

"Shit, Tones..." Rhodes breathes.

"Come with me," James repeats, turning his hand to clasp his fingers around Stark's forearm. "We aren't safe here."

Stark takes a step forward, stare locked on the armor.

Rhodes speaks quietly. "Hey, Tony. It's... God, it's good to see you."

Stark tilts his head. His lips part and his voice comes out husky. "That's mine," he says, though it sounds more like a question.

Rhodes chuckles and lifts the faceplate. "Yeah, yeah it is."

"You're not..." Stark frowns as his gaze moves rapidly across Rhodes' bared face.

James gently tugs at Stark's arm and takes a step back, testing to see if he can get the man moving. Stark is distracted enough that he moves without looking at James. Stark looks frustrated and baffled as he continues to examine the armor and the man's face inside.

"Why do you have it?" Stark mutters, seemingly to himself. James glances at Rhodes and finds that the man has no ready answer. It doesn't seem to matter; Stark shakes his head and mumbles something under his breath, voice paper thin and inaudible.

"Let's go." James shifts his M4 onto his back, freeing his right hand. He places it on Stark's arm, gently but firmly guiding him toward the exit.

"Where are we going?" Stark asks, allowing James to guide him. His grip on the arm shifts, making it easier for James to move to his side and walk.

"Time to leave this place," Rhodes answers as the faceplate lowers. "I'll take point. Let's move it."

Stark refuses to go past the lab's doorway, and his hold on James means they both have to stop. "Go ahead, Rhodes," James says when he sees the helmet turn toward them.

The armor doesn't move far.

"Listen," James starts as he turns to Stark, trying to catch the blue stare again. "You and I are walking out of here. It isn't our job to protect the people here. They don't matter. We are here, for you."

Stark's brows pinch together. "You need... maintenance?" he asks with clear uncertainty.

James licks his lips as he stares into the eyes fixed on his. "I need your help," he allows.

Stark looks at the arm again, then between James and the hallway strewn with downed Hydra agents.

"We won't let them punish you," James says.

"He had—" Stark cuts himself off with a small scowl. "That was mine."

James feels the corner of his lips twitch. "Yeah. You've got some other things to reclaim, too." Stark stares at him, distance returning to his gaze. Still, he nods briefly and allows James to guide him into the hall this time.

Rhodes beckons them toward the stairwell. "Come on, we need to pick up the pace. JARVIS says someone could speed up the flood process by opening additional hatches."

As James hurries them along, he hears Stark's wondering murmur: "JARVIS...?"

The trouble starts where Steve and Thor had been searching. Sam and Natasha are closest to them. Both teams report the water suddenly flooding into the halls.

"We should be able to make it back to the entrance!" Steve calls, the rush of water in the background. "Keep pressing forward. We'll meet up with you."

They pick up the pace, Stark looking more and more deeply introspective and distant the farther they go. James pulls him along, trying to keep an eye on him and their six while Rhodes once again leads the way.

They encounter two groups of Hydra troops on the return trip, battles that are more like pathetic scrambles against the firepower Rhodes is suddenly less hesitant to use. James positions himself in front of Stark both times, using his greater mass as a shield while taking shots with his rifle.

They meet up with the rest of the rescue party. Clint has a scraped-up elbow, but that miraculously seems to be the worst of their injuries. They all look like half-drowned cats, staring up at what used to be the open ceiling for the base's hangar and is now a sealed bulkhead, ninety feet up.

"We need a quick way up."

Steve immediately looks to Hulk and points up. "Hulk? Could you clear a way?"

"Big hole make big water," Hulk says dubiously, even as he crouches in preparation to leap to the ceiling of the hangar.

"I've got room for two," Rhodes says, holding his arms out to the side.

Sam pats his wings. "Should be able to do the same."

"I am a skilled swimmer, and with the assist of Mjölnir, I will propel myself and another to the surface."

"Hulk take blue man," he says before he leaps for the ceiling.

"I guess that's the plan," Steve agrees, blinking after the Hulk.

Sam offers his arm to Natasha. Clint glances between them before stepping up to Thor. "Hey, buddy. Gonna take me for a wild ride?" he jokes.

Thor beams as he slings his arm around Clint. "Indeed, Hawkeye."

"Wow. You didn't even buy me dinner first."

At the first sound of Hulk punching into the metal above, Rhodes grabs onto James and Stark.

At the touch, Stark immediately begins to struggle. He heaves his weight to one side, then the other in attempts to loosen Rhodes' grasp. He elbows and kicks futilely at the suit. Twice he narrowly avoids James, who moves back to allow Stark and Rhodes more room.

"Tones, I need you to calm down," Rhodes pleads, grabbing Stark above both elbows. He maintains a firm grip even as Stark seems to double his efforts of escape. He's moving violently enough now that if James hadn't moved back, Stark would have surely hit him, regardless of Rhodes restraining him.

"You're gonna be okay," James attempts. "You can come with us, they aren't going to do anything to you."

"No. _No!_ I belong... I—" Stark sucks in a stuttering gasp. His eyes look glossy, gaze distant and unfocused. He isn't fully cognizant of what's happening around him, James realizes.

"Are you going to be able to keep them both safe if you're dealing with him?" Sam asks warily, glancing between Stark's increasingly desperate struggle and the ceiling. Hulk is above them ripping a large hole in the bottom of the sealed airlock doors.

"James," Natasha calls as she throws something his way. He catches it, immediately identifying an injection gun.

He doesn't want to do it, but for expediency's sake and in the name of safety, James jams it into Stark's neck. Whatever the sedative is, it works almost instantaneously. The man barely has the chance to look at James with a confused, betrayed expression before his eyes fall shut and he slumps in Rhodes' grasp. James wraps an arm around Stark's front to brace him against the armor, and he moves back where Rhodes can get a firm grip on them both.

Hulk roars above them, the last warning they get before water starts pouring through the hole. Hulk leaps down the wall to return to the group. He scoops Steve up without warning and jumps back up.

"Hold on," Thor warns Clint before swinging Mjölnir into a mighty wind-up.

"Got him?" Rhodes asks. After James gives him a tight nod, the armor's boot repulsors fire up and thrust them into the air.

~

Rhodes doesn't let anyone else take Stark once they've landed back at the tower. With the armor on, he is more than capable of carrying the man out of the quinjet and into the elevator. Bruce follows along with them; Steve also joins after a brief hesitation. James trails after them, not having anywhere better to be plus he feels compelled to keep Stark in his sight. It's a tight fit in the elevator with the armor carrying a grown man, two super soldiers, and Banner.

As uncomfortable as some of the Avengers are about it, the decision was made to place Stark in the suite reserved for the Hulk. As confinement goes, it's a comfortable option. While sparse, the suite was clearly designed as an apartment rather than cell. The main difference from the Tower's other apartments is the special door lock and the wall of thick, impact-proof panes of reinforced glass that separates the suite from an entry room. 

When they've reached the room, Bruce steps forward to key in his code to unlock the man-sized door. He steps aside to allow Rhodes inside. The scientist hesitates to follow, glancing back at James and Steve.

James takes one step forward, almost leaning towards the door. He wants to be closer, use the better lighting of the tower to examine the man who'd recognized him while still under Hydra's thrall. The ride in the jet had been long, and Rhodes had been in protective mode, putting himself between the unconscious Stark and the rest of the team. Only Bruce, when he'd somewhat recovered from the Hulk, had been allowed to do a cursory examination.

"Hey, Banner?" Rhodes calls, his voice free of the armor's filter. "Could you... have another look? JARVIS has a better view here, but I wouldn't mind having your input."

Bruce smiles reluctantly as he steps away from the door. "I'm really not that kind of doctor," he protests halfheartedly.

James quickly takes up Banner's abandoned place in the doorway. Steve's hand on his arm helps remind him to stay put. It is not his place to interfere. What claim does he have to be at the bedside of a man he hasn't really met?

The armor stands sentry behind Rhodes, who's leaning over Stark. The room contains a pile of futons, blankets, and pillows for the Hulk, and it looks like Rhodes cleared a more manageable space to lay Stark. The man breathes evenly, looks almost peaceful but for the flickering blue light that still manages to emanate from his closed eyes. James can see the movement and imagines some of the nightmares running through his head.

The Asset entered the room with orders to retrieve the lead agent for report. He was instructed to watch the prisoner, ensure he did not escape or kill himself.

The Asset stands sentry near the door, watching the prisoner from the corner of his gaze. The man struggled slowly to his feet, water and bile staining his shirt. A blue light glowed in a circle beneath the wet fabric clinging to his chest.

_"Hey,"_ the man croaked, immediately proceeding to cough. It was a violent sound, confirming the Asset's first assumption upon seeing the water tub in the center of the room. _"Grunge look isn't really in,"_ the man continued to rasp. The Asset let his gaze stray to the prisoner for a moment. There was curiosity, still a spark of life, in his gaze.

Rhodes lowers himself to sit next to Stark's hip as Banner talks to him quietly. James can't seem to focus enough to understand the words as he stares and stares.

"Is there anything you need?"Steve's voice startles him from his thoughts. Steve is addressing the men inside.

Rhodes looks up with a tired half-smile. "Water for sure. Some food? Might be a good idea to get a proper bed in here."

Bruce says, "I'll need to fetch some things for myself." He starts walking back to the door when his gaze focuses on James.

James steps back, bumping into Steve. Uncomfortable, he turns and makes his way towards the stairwell, carefully _not running_. He feels torn, uncertain where he should be right now. The Sig Sauer bumping against his arm reminds him that he is still wearing his gear. In his rush, he nearly bypasses his floor. He jumps back a few steps and turns to the door.

The hallway is clear of Sam, the only other person besides Steve who has an apartment on the floor. James makes it into his rooms unbothered. As he has many times before, he wishes there was some additional lock he could physically turn in place, one more sense memory to add assurance.

He places his weapons on the breakfast counter for proper care but pays little attention to his clothing as he strips off the armor and sweat-stained shirt beneath it. He kicks off his boots and pants on the way to his bedroom. He's stripped to his socks by the time he crosses into the bathroom and turns on the shower.

When he is finally under the hot spray of water, his body releases a huge shudder. It happens once. Then again. James wraps his arms around his torso as another shudder wracks through him. The magnitude subsides after that, but he cannot fully stop the tremor that runs through him. His heart is a knot in his chest. His breath catches in his throat.

Blue, all he can see is _unnatural blue_.

The Asset stood silently to the side of the room, slightly to the right and behind his Handler. A trio of lab technicians stood around a counter, explaining their observations to a man in a knock-off military uniform. The man nodded along, gaze greedily drinking in the artifact on the table. Unearthly blue light glowed from within the orb cradled at the end of a short staff. His Handler watched the interaction with a small smirk twisting his lips.

_"I have great interest in this,"_ the uniformed man said, turning to the Handler. _"When are you able to send it to another facility?"_

_"I can send you with the research we have so far when you depart today. The artifact itself is still needed here a while longer, I'm afraid."_

_"Do let me know when it becomes available, won't you? I have a few very promising subjects overseas. This staff would prove a very interesting inclusion in our ongoing experiments."_

_"I will ensure it becomes available to you when our own... experiment is stabilized, Wolfgang. Come, we have one more thing to discuss. Project Insight draws closer by the day."_

James refocuses to find himself slumped against the shower wall, his body aching from the hours spent on their mission. The tremor in his limbs has died off, but it seems to have moved to his lungs, each breath a shuddered exhale. He uncurls himself and adjusts his position to stand properly under the shower to wash off the grime and sweat.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> From about _"JARVIS...?"_ to the scene break was written by hotrod after sorting out the rambling mess I originally had. Transitions are difficult.
> 
> I... am sorry about the abrupt endings. I have an awful time smoothly ending a scene.


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This should maybe have another look-over? But I kinda wore myself out running through proofing yesterday. Anything horrendous stands out, let me know.
> 
> Enjoy the 4k chapter.

James lays on his side in bed, watching the window from half-closed eyes. He hasn't been able to fall asleep, but the sort of meditative doze he has managed lets him relax a little. Steve checked in earlier, shortly after he finished showering, to make sure he felt okay. James gave some reassurance that got his friend to back off, at least for the time being. Right now, he needs quiet. He needs to figure out what this ache beneath his sternum is about. There is a hollowness there that he hasn't felt so acutely for months.

_"Your name is Barnes."_

"JARVIS?" he finds himself asking for the AI.

"Yes, Mr. James?"

"Is Stark awake?"

"Sir is conscious, yes." There is the smallest of pauses, just enough to pull James more fully to the present. 

He directs his frown at the camera he's considered digging out of the wall. "What do you mean?"

"His actions indicate that he is unfamiliar with his surroundings. At present, Colonel Rhodes and Agent Romanov are attempting to determine the extent of his disorientation."

James sits up and moves to the edge of the bed. Leaning his elbows on his knees, he scowls down at the floor as he considers the information. "And what do you think?"

"I believe Sir has very little comprehension as to where he is. Although he indicated familiarity with the Iron Man armor, he has not shown strong recognition of the people he has seen." JARVIS falls silent. James has nothing to add. A minute drags by. "Mr. James... may I suggest returning to see Sir?"

James glances up, startled. "I don't even know him," he counters.

"I would disagree. Although you were not aware of his identity at the time, it seems that you and he had enough interaction to result in a connection you were able to recognize. Sir has already responded positively to your prosthetic. With additional exposure, I believe he will respond to _you_ as well."

James clenches his hands together between his knees. He shakes his head slightly, unsure if he is denying the AI's words or trying to shake his thoughts clear. He can't help but feel he doesn't belong and shouldn't intrude. The others, for the most part, know Tony Stark, Iron Man. James remembers fragments of a man being hollowed out by the machinations of Hydra.

"Mr. James," JARVIS says, volume lower than before. "Please."

The AI has never spoken to James like this. Hell, he hasn't overheard the AI sounding like this with anyone before. The request has more emotion behind it than what he has ever heard from JARVIS.

James inhales slowly and releases the breath in a long sigh. He pushes himself to his feet and goes to pull on socks and shoes. On his way out of the apartment he grabs a hoodie, one inherited from Steve, and pulls it on. JARVIS has the elevator ready for him by the time he reaches the end of the hall. In the lift, James flicks his gaze to the corner camera and nods briefly.

When the doors open again, he can hear the strained voices easily, suggesting that Rhodes and Romanov are standing outside of the suite. Striding down the hall, James' reluctance fades away. He pushes through the partially closed door and looks immediately to the transparent wall.

"Barnes?" Rhodes asks, startled.

He focuses on the man he can see pacing restlessly in the room beyond. Stark's gaze flits around but stays longest on his hands, which he holds near his chest as he twines his fingers together in a repetitive motion.

"James?" Natasha prompts.

He glances at her and Rhodes. "When did he wake up?"

"About an hour ago. At least, that's when he was obvious about it," Rhodes says with a small grimace. "Maybe a half hour before that."

"He's not responding to contact well," Natasha reports. She turns to study Stark. "He seems very confused. That glow... we never saw it that bright." She sighs and brings her hand up to pinch the bridge of her nose. "A knock to the head cleared up the external control on Loki's victims of the time. However, that was a matter of days. Not _years_."

Rhodes hand fists at his sides. "It's going to take some time," he mutters, jaw clenched. "I know that."

"We've started going through the data Sam and I could grab," Natasha continues. "Maybe we can find details to help us."

"Clint contacted Fury," Rhodes says. He scrubs at his face one-handed. "I... I've gotta go call in, make sure I'm cleared for leave." When he moves his hand from his face, his gaze locks on Stark. His expression is pained, his heartache unmistakable.

Natasha gently places a hand on his arm. "Go ahead. We'll be here. At least take a shower before you come back, okay?"

He casts her an amused smirk. "You saying I stink?"

"I wouldn't be so blunt," she assures.

James steps away from them, letting their voices fade to white noise. As he walks closer to the wall, Stark's pacing stutters and slows. His thousand-yard stare seems to come back to the present. James halts bare inches from the barrier, waiting for Stark to turn one more time and bring James into his line of sight.

His pace slows to a halt, and his gaze roams over James. Those unnaturally glowing eyes linger on the metal arm, but his stare doesn't lock on to it like earlier. His eyes are no longer vacant, but his expression shows signs of barely-masked distress.

They stare at each other. Stark's agitated fidgeting eases somewhat, the motions no longer as jerky.

"Hey," James greets, mouth gone dry.

Stark continues to stare at him, tension lining his face. He frees one hand to scratch absently at the collar of his shirt. His lips move in a series of impressive acrobatics as he struggles for words. In his faintest memories, James thinks he can remember Stark's rapid-fire speech and obvious ease with words. Most of what he remembers, though, is broken sentences, confusion, and confidence failing as that blue, _that fucking blue_ , grew brighter.

Licking his lips, James asks, "Do you need anything?"

Stark's lips pinch together, and his gaze goes past James' shoulder. James turns his head to see Natasha standing a few feet away, watching them quietly. She catches his eye and tilts her head towards the door in silent question. He gives her a small nod, and she leaves without exchanging a word.

When she's out of sight, Stark says, "I know you."

James lifts his left arm and smiles crookedly. "Hard to forget?"

The other man shrugs, expression thoughtful. "You were there, then you were gone."

"Yeah," he agrees, not sure what else to say.

Stark searches behind James as he takes a hesitant step towards the barrier. When his gaze returns to James, he moves closer. "Were you taken?" he asks.

"No, it was a mission." James shakes his head. "Started with one, anyway." He stuffs his hands into the hoodie's front pocket, feeling suddenly awkward just standing around in front of the wall. "Kinda got a wake-up call, then."

Stark nods slowly, looking a little distant again, as if trying to piece together a meaning from those words. His fingers untangle, and he raises one hand to rest against the clear wall. He leans in, staring at his own hand with a frown. "I made this," he says, perplexed. "I shouldn't be in it."

"You did," James acknowledges. The second part is harder to address. "Sorry, but you're... not yourself right now."

Stark tilts his head to the side. "Are you yourself?"

James feels his lips twitch, torn between a smile and a grimace. "Still figuring that out," he admits quietly.

"You're Barnes," Stark says, expression clearing like he's just remembered.

"James Barnes. You can call me James," he says with a slight smile.

"James," Stark repeats, nodding to himself. He stares at his hand again, mouth twisting in confusion. "That's... nice."

Despite the seriousness of the situation, James feels his smile stretch. "Thank you."

Stark looks up, looking surprised by James' amusement. 

It's on the tip of of his tongue to ask if Stark has an idea of what he wants to be called. He doesn't remember if Stark ever gave his real name to the Asset. The humor of a moment ago fades as he thinks of Hydra's title for Stark — "Merchant." He knows now where the title came from.

"I..." Stark trails off, voice dropping low. He steps right up to the barrier, leaning close enough that his breath momentarily fogs the surface. "I lost my name," he admits. "I don't like what they called me."

James can't help himself, he slips his right hand from his pocket and presses it to the glass in a mirror of Stark's. "Then you don't have to hear it again," he promises.

Unearthly eyes meet his, but the blue haze seems to clear just a little. Perhaps it's James' imagination, but he swears that he can see a hint of earthy brown.

"They—" Stark uses his free hand to wave at the space behind James, presumably indicating Rhodes and Natasha "—knew me, before." He tilts his head, looking searchingly at James' face. "Did... you?"

He snorts softly, lips curving into a humorless smile. "No. Didn't even know myself." He watches the other man process that.

Stark closes his eyes, and as he releases a long sigh, he slumps against the wall. His fingers curl against the glass, and he turns to the side before sliding down to the floor. Uncomfortable standing above him, James lowers himself to kneel on the opposite side. 

James shifts around, moving his legs out from under him as he adjusts to lean his right side against the glass. He can face Stark this way. He shifts his attention between watching Stark's closed eyes (still glowing) and his own knees. He doesn't know what to say.

He rubs his right thumb along the knee of his sweatpants, focusing on the brush of cotton as it shifts over his skin. Everything feels so soft. He doesn't always think about it, but moments like this — when it's silent and there aren't a million things to think about — he notices how _comfortable_ he can feel. He is fine in his gear and running into the middle of the action. But unlike before, he is allowed periods of quiet, not one filled with cold and numbness. It's voluntary. He can change out of the armor, lay down his arms, fall asleep in a warm bed.

He glances up, focusing on Stark again, and finds the man watching him with a solemn expression. They stare at each other, leaning shoulder to knee with the wall between them.

Stark breaks the silence though his voice barely rises above a whisper; "We weren't theirs."

James swallows hard and closes his eyes against the sudden sting of heat in his temples. He shakes his head, then leans it against the glass. He gives a weak laugh, humorless. "No, we weren't. You reminded me, you know," he chokes out.

"How could I? You didn't know me... _before_."

He opens his eyes to take in Stark's consternated expression. The man looks uncertain and so frustrated with that confusion. When he notices James watching him, he leans forward, bringing his face closer. "I didn't _know_ you."

James lifts his hand and wiggles it side to side. "You recognized me," he explains. "You did know this guy... Steve. I was his best friend. Somehow, you knew it was me."

Stark's eyes narrow in consideration. "He's a— a big guy?" His nose scrunches up as he mutters, "Red, white, and blue?" That startles a laugh out of James. Stark immediately focuses, staring at James with a look of fascination.

"That's him," James agrees. "Sometimes goes by Captain America." His heart sinks when Stark scowls and looks away.

They sit in silence for a while after that. James hears footsteps in the hall, followed by lowered voices. He glances sidelong at the door, but no one comes through.

"Was he," Stark starts, then pauses again with a grimace. "Did that guy 'wake you up'?"

James studies his knees as he reflects on the early days, when he had been on the run from everything and everyone — including himself. "Sort of," he answers. "Started to, at least." The world that Hydra had constructed for him fell apart in chunks and pieces, sometimes so quickly it was like someone turning on a light. Some of it came slowly, like the gradual rising of the sun.

"So," Stark murmurs, "think it'll happen to me, too?" He averts his gaze.

James presses his cheek to the glass as he looks at the other man. Stark curls in on himself. His fingers have worked a thread loose from the seam of his pants, and he's busy twirling it around and around.

"Probably not the same," James says. "But I don't think it's all gone. Hell, for me things are being knocked loose from decades ago, 'fore you were born. It ain't all going to stay locked away from you." Stark glares at him, apparently disbelieving his timeline claim. "It'll make sense, trust me." He says it without thought, the words rolling off his tongue as if it has always been so easy. But it isn't. He can't remember the last time he said those words.

Stark's expression blanks, but there's something that looks vulnerable in his eyes. He seems unable to look away from James, his whole body curved towards him despite the barrier. "I don't know that I can," he whispers like a confession, a hint of guilt bleeding into the words.

James can't quite work up a smile as he places his left hand against the glass. "That's okay. You gotta think for yourself." His chest feels tight when Stark immediately scrambles to put his hand opposite James'. Something desperate floods Stark's expression.

In this moment their surrounds fall away and all he knows is that something is _wrong_. When they see each other, they aren't supposed to have a divider like this. Why is there glass between them? How is the Merchant supposed to tend the arm if they can't touch?

There is more space around him than usual, but he can feel the cold creeping in. He is awake, too aware, what happened to the drugs? He can't feel the lingering aftershocks of the chair. The fingers of his flesh hand go numb first. He stares at the man opposite him, meets the baffled stare limned with blue light. They should be within touching distance. If the Asset is being stored, why is the Merchant here? This is not how they cross paths. The Asset is a guard for prisoners, or a tool to be maintained. 

This isn't right.

He forces himself to move his cold, stiff muscles, pushes into a crouch, and starts examining the barrier. He runs both hands over the surface, searching for imperfections to exploit. On the other side, the Merchant fumbles to sit upright and watches him with wide eyes. His hands push against the glass. The Asset can see his pulse leaping against his throat — fear, an adrenaline rush.

He finds nothing useful on the surface of the glass, even when he stands up. A couple meters to the right he sees the door and a control pad. He lunges for it, fighting off the cold trying to weigh him down. On the other side of the barrier, the Merchant follows him, tripping over his own feet.

"What are you doing?" the Merchant asks. He glances quickly between the Asset and the control panel that does not look easily hackable. Destroying it won't work, either. The Asset starts to examine the door. "James—"

He hears the footsteps behind him even as the Merchant tries to warn him.

He spins around, dropping into a crouch on instinct. The woman and man facing him watch him with varying levels of surprise. When the man's expression hardens and he steps forward, the Asset snarls a warning. The woman wisely reaches out to halt her companion. She eyes the Asset with a calculating look. He recognizes the way she carries herself, the way her weight shifts as she establishes a firm pose from which to attack or defend. Neither of them wear the familiar insignia he expects of his employers. Neither has the bearing of his Handlers.

"James," the Merchant beckons. "James."

The Asset twitches, tempted to turn towards that voice. But why use that name? A name doesn't belong to a— It belongs to a man, not—

" _James_ , wake up." It's the crack in those words, a plea, that turns his head. The Merchant watches him with wide eyes, hazy with unnatural blue light, but in the center... He's human. Just human. They both are. "They took us," the Merchant says, his breath hitching on the last word. "Don't..." He trails off, shaking his head.

The Asset is so _cold_ , but he shouldn't be. This isn't the freezing room. There is no chair. Not even a lab. From the side of the glass where the Merchant — _no, that title is wrong_ — stands, he can see rays of sunlight.

"James Barnes," the woman says behind him, "you are in Stark Tower in New York City. Do you remember? Your mission is over."

There had been a mission, an unusual one. Not about death and destruction — though there had been that, too — but about recovery.

"Yes," he breathes. It isn't clear, not fully, but as he continues to stare at the man on the other side of the glass, another name comes to him. "Tony Stark."

Stark freezes, breath held still in his chest. His face pales.

James, _My name is James_ , steps up to the glass and presses against it. Maybe it looks ridiculous, it certainly isn't comfortable leaning flush against the hard surface, but he moves as close as he can. "They will _never_ use _that_ name again," he vows fiercely, shoving away the ugly title Hydra branded Stark with. It's harder to shove aside his own designation. He is still so cold. His left arm suddenly aches, and he is hyper-aware of the sounds its mechanisms make. It is hard to feel human.

Stark stares at him, and James sees the moment that something in the man snaps. Stark pushes off from the glass, stunned expression twisting into anger. He slaps his hands against the barrier and _screams_ , wordless fear and fury twining together. The Asset falls away as James sags against the wall and watches through blurry vision as Stark slams his fist against the other side again with a snarl.

"You will _not!_ You _cannot do this to me!_ "

"Tony!" Rhodes shoves against James' shoulder as he tries to figure out the door controls.

"Rhodes," Natasha says, "you don't have the clearance. I'm not sure you should—"

"I will not leave him!" Rhodes snaps, whirling on her, hand raised as he jabs a finger in her direction.

James' attention focuses on Stark as the man stalks away from the wall. He has his fingers clenched in his hair as he stumbles and paces as far as he can.

"JARVIS," he whispers, "let me in."

He doesn't expect it to work. It should not work, there are rules in place and only a select few have access here, but James hears the slide of locks disengaging. He doesn't think, just shoves Rhodes aside. He opens the door just enough to slip inside, briefly feeling the edge catch the edge of his clothes.

Stark doesn't seem to notice him until James is a foot away, left hand extended. The other man stumbles back, his arms moving to a defensive position in front of him. His eyes are still wild, his breathing erratic, but he doesn't flinch away when James lays a hand on his shoulder. James freezes, uncertain what he's supposed to do now. His instincts made he rush in, but now he flounders with how to continue.

"How _long?_ " Stark gasps, eyes wide and pleading.

"Nearly four years," James admits.

He has to catch Stark as the man collapses. James worries for a moment about Stark falling face-first toward his metal arm. He shifts just enough that the man lands against his chest. He wraps his right arm around Stark's back, the movement instinctive rather than a conscious choice. The other man's breath comes in harsh gasps as he curls his fingers tightly into James' hoodie.

At a loss, James murmurs, "I'm sorry." _I'm sorry I don't know what to do._

Stark shakes his head without moving away. A breathy litany of denials spills across James' chest.

"Damn it, JARVIS!" Rhodes' shout diverts James' attention. Rhodes smacks his open hand against the wall. His gaze finds James', and his lips thin into an angry line. "Open it!" he snaps.

James would, he really would, but he can't move with Stark anchoring them in place. The man in his arms is clinging to him as if James is the only safe haven. It is odd and borderline uncomfortable, but Jame will not let go.

Stark turns his head, cheek pressing against against James' shoulder. His fingers remain entangled in James' hoodie and he shows no sign of moving farther, but his voice cracks as he calls, "Rhodey?"

Rhodes looks like he wants to claw through the wall. "I'm here, Tones. I'm here, we've got you. _Damn it_ , JARVIS!"

James hears the door unlock again. It finally registers that JARVIS hasn't said anything since James got off the elevator.

Rhodes tears into the room, desperate stare locked on Stark as he closes in. He stops abruptly at James' side, arms raised slightly with nowhere to go. James tries to shift Stark over, allow the man to embrace his friend, but Stark only moves to clutch at James' arm. The demand to stay put comes through clearly. James grimaces apologetically at Rhodes, though the man hardly acknowledges him.

"I've got you, Tony. You're home, you're _home_." Rhodes reaches a trembling hand to Stark's head and gently cards his fingers through the brunette's messy strands.

Stark leans into the touch. His gaze roams searchingly over Rhodes' face. "I'm sorry," he mutters, staring at his friend while still clinging to James. "I don't..." His expression scrunches up, looking pained.

"It's fine, you're good," Rhodes assures. His other hand comes up to cup Stark's cheek. It's awkward for James, suddenly caught with having the other man's hand pinned between his shoulder and Stark's cheek.

"No, you don't get it." Stark tries to pull away from Rhodes' touch, but there isn't far to go given how he decided to cling to James. His shoulders slump in resignation, and he leans against Rhodes' hand again. He averts his gaze as he speaks haltingly. "There was... a desert? And... shit. I'm sorry."

"Tones?" Rhodes coaxes gently, ducking a little in attempt to catch his friend's eyes. "Hey, we're here. I'm _right here_ with you."

"Rhodey." Stark says it like he's learning the shape of each sound, drawing out the O a little. He huffs an unhappy laugh. "We were young. When I— we met?"

It's the tremor in his voice with the question that makes it click for Rhodes. James sees his expression blank for a moment, eyes widening. He takes a visible, bracing breath though he never falters in stroking Stark's hair. 

He clears his throat before speaking again, voice quieter, an undertone of pain haunting his words. "Yeah, Tones. MIT. You, me, late nights and wild fits of genius." His smile is tremulous, but it's rewarded when Stark glances at him and relaxes minutely. "We've still got stupidly overlarge sweatshirts. You even insisted on making matching holes when yours tore. I'll dig it out for you, if you want?" Stark nods hesitantly. "Yeah? Okay, good. I've got some photos somewhere. I'll get those, too, okay?"

Again Stark nods, this time responding, "Yeah, that sounds— Thank you. Thanks."

Rhodes' eyes are wet above his smile. "Of course, Tones."

~


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Your comments and kudos are awesome. Thank you so much!

James has his eyes closed as he leans back against the wall. He doesn't know how long ago Stark fell asleep and Rhodes was pulled away. He isn't sure how long he's been sitting here, listening to the hum of Stark's arc reactor.

"Hey, Buck?" Steve calls quietly.

He opens his eyes and looks across the room. Steve stands on the other side of the barrier. Some of his tension seems to release when his gaze meets James'. Although he hasn't heard any recent movement from Stark, James glances to the side where a pile of blankets marks the man's location.

He stands up and crosses to the door. JARVIS opens it without prompt, and Steve meets him as he steps out.

"You doing okay?" Steve asks. He knows better than to say, _You don't have to do this_ after the first time. The sentiment lingers in his expression, though.

"I'm fine," James answers. "You don't have to keep asking." Steve crosses his arms and raises a silent, judgmental eyebrow. James rolls his eyes, suppressing a fond smile.

"When's the last time you slept?" Steve asks. His gaze shifts to the pile of blankets, and he frowns. "In your bed," he amends.

James honestly doesn't know. Some time before the mission, probably. The hours bled together after Stark first sagged against him. The constant clinging stopped a while ago, but James doesn't feel comfortable leaving. He still doesn't remember things clearly, but there are flashes of recognition, pieces that come together in his mind that let him know Stark had been trying to reach _him_ — James Buchanan Barnes — until the very end. It doesn't feel right to walk away from the man who had provided respites of humanity to the Winter Soldier.

Steve sighs, dropping his head forward with the exaggerated sound. "Right. That's about what I thought."

"I'm not leaving."

His friend looks up quickly, thoughtful frown in place as he searches James' face. He isn't sure what Steve is looking for. Had he been abrupt? The words had come easily; they were instinctive. He doesn't defend himself, waiting silently as the blond scrutinizes him. As the silence drags, he's tempted to snap _What?_

Eventually Steve asks, "What happened?" He drops his hands to his sides and turns to lean his back against the transparent wall. He looks like he's settling in for a long conversation. James arches an eyebrow in silent question, unsure what Steve wants to know. "Before... well, DC. When you met, what happened?"

James doesn't reply right away. He steps around Steve and looks inside the room. His gaze locks on a pale hand poking out from the blanket pile, the only body part exposed since Stark buried himself for sleep. James doesn't have all his memories, maybe he never will, but there are scenes that play crystal clear in his memory.

"He knew me. Not right away." He keeps his eyes on Stark's hidden figure, finding it easier to talk if he isn't looking at Steve. "He wasn't afraid of me. But he didn't see the Soldier action."

"How did you even cross paths?"

"I think... guard duty. It was a fluke...?" His memory is faulty, he knows. "Sometimes, though, they had him at the machines." His limbs tingle with the thankfully distant memory of electricity coursing through his veins. They had pointed Stark at the chair, the cryo units, and probably any number of other pieces of equipment he was far less familiar with. His left arm seems to rise of its own accord, drawing his attention to the movement of its plates. "The arm, at some point."

"Which led to the transmitter."

He shrugs. "Must have."

"Why?"

James closes his eyes and stretches for the memory. It had been important, enough so that the Asset had not reported the strange behavior of the man attending his arm. Stark never should have been able to add something without alerting the Handlers. He remembers brown eyes, already glazing with unnatural blue, staring at him in a silent plea for trust. 

He shakes his head in answer to Steve's question. He has no clear way to explain. "I just knew it was important." He glances at his friend. "It's why I only turned it off and didn't take it out. Didn't remember what it was, just knew it couldn't go."

Steve nods slightly. "Tony's always seemed to have a trick up his sleeve," he says with a faint smile.

"You didn't know him long, did you?" James asks. He turns to lean against the wall, shoulder brushing Steve's.

"A little less than two years, between our first meeting and the last time I saw him." Steve scratches the underside of his chin with a small grimace." We didn't start off real well. Not sure that many of us did. Some of that was the... staff." His voice goes tight, and James looks over to find Steve clenching his fingers into a fist. "That thing should've gone back with Thor and been turned over to Asgard." He knocks his fist back against the wall. "Damn it."

The staff with its alien gem. The thing that most likely is the cause of the glow lingering within Stark's eyes. With alien technology — _magic_ , they should just call a spade a spade — in the mix of Hydra's conditioning, James wonders what sort of recovery Stark is facing. Banner ran some bloodwork and didn't detect anything unexpected. Stark doesn't have the serum in his veins that has helped James' brain heal some of the broken connections Hydra continually tore apart.

Steve takes in a deep breath, then exhales slowly. "Anyway, it didn't take long for Tony to call everyone in. Even in the middle of funding the recovery efforts in the city, he was working on renovating this place." He gestures broadly to indicate the Tower. "He gave me an hour-long tour of the reserved floors, dragging up projected plans along the way. By the time we were back in the elevator, I didn't want to leave. I think originally he was just going to _give_ us everything, but Ms. Potts got some paperwork in order. But you know about that, you've got the lease. So, it wasn't this handout.

"Then, as we're about to head back down, he turned to look at me. He asked me, real serious, 'You want to get dirty, Rogers?' I didn't know what the hell he was saying." James feels a smile tugging at his lips even though he's as confused as Steve must have felt. "I was getting angry because he just kept _staring_ at me and clearly hiding a smirk. Then JARVIS said—"

"Sir wishes to invite you to the reconstruction efforts on 33rd," the AI provides helpfully.

Steve smiles, glancing towards the camera in the corner. "Yeah, that. I think it was similar for all of us. Tour, pitching ideas, and an invite to get hands-on. It's... what I needed. I don't know what I would have done without this — the team, a home, Tony bringing us all together." He looks over his shoulder, gaze going to the lump of blankets. The smile brought on by his memories dims. "I don't know how much of it was intentional. Natasha did an evaluation a few years before that; she warned us that he could switch between being surprisingly attuned to people and suddenly detached from typical social cues."

"Did he?" James asks, curious.

"Yeah," Steve replies, and the way he ducks his head to the side suggests he hadn't always handled the situation well. "But at the end of the day, he was a guy you wanted by your side. Not just for the fancy gadgets or tactical support." He shrugs, a sad smile crossing his lips. "I hope that kind, funny guy is still in there, you know?"

James does not respond, avoiding possible eye contact by staring at the opposite wall. He hopes Steve and the others will have their familiar friend return. Although their situations are different, James can't restrain the cynical part of himself contemplating the extent of the changes they will see between the Tony Stark of before and now. Thor has suggested that the power of the gem Hydra has in its possession should lessen with time and distance. James has seen a twin look of hope between Steve and Rhodes as they wait for the magic to fade. However, there is more than magic at play. There was water, James remembers. Water and possibilities of far too many other conditioning tactics that Hydra likely employed in creating compliance. 

_He will not be the same. Do you understand that?_ he has been tempted to ask. He knows that some days it seems like Steve can hardly reconcile his best friend Bucky with the man James is now. 

"You're... different. Around him." When he glances back at Steve, the searching look is intent, focused. James cocks his head to the side in silent question.

Steve shrugs, smiling hesitantly. "Looser, I guess. Or... more willing to open up?" He frowns to himself. "Or more willing to initiate contact?"

James gives him a flat look. "You initiate enough for six people." He isn't sure he's comfortable with the direction this conversation is taking, but Steve suddenly laughs, delighted.

It's familiar, tugging at old memories. From a time when he felt comfortable in "Bucky's" skin. The laughter lingers in the corners of Steve's eyes even when the sound fades. James has the urge to say it looks good on him.

Still smiling, Steve asks, "Are you going to be up later for dinner?"

James thinks about it for a moment. He doesn't mind the team dinners, and the food is always good, but... 

He glances at the pile of blankets. "...Maybe later."

The laughter in Steve's eyes fades a bit, though a soft smile lingers. "We'll save some." Giving the pile his own look, he adds, "For both of you."

With a dorky little wave, Steve pushes off the wall and heads out the door.

James waits for the sound of the stairwell door before making his way back inside the suite. "You gonna keep pretending?" he asks.

Stark sits up in the middle of the futon, pillows scattering and blankets sliding down to curl around his hips. His hair lays flat on one side of his head while the rest of it sticks out in a variety of directions. James feels his lips twitch with amusement as he approaches.

"Who was it?" Stark asks as he scrubs at his eyes with the palm of his hand.

"Steve," James replies. He sits down at the edge of the futon on one of the displaced pillows.

"Oh. What are you still doing here?" Stark leans back on his hands as he eyes James. "You... haven't been here the _whole_ time?" When James just shrugs, he sits up straight, luminescent eyes widening in shock. "What the hell? _Why?_ "

"Why not?" How is he supposed to explain the instinctual need to be here? Is it for support? He isn't sure. Something compels him to stay, though. Besides, he doesn't want to leave.

Stark shakes his head, brow furrowing with confusion. "You don't—"

James cuts in with a firm but gentle, "Don't tell me what to do. This is where I want to be."

Stark swallows his words and nods. He drops his gaze to where he starts picking at the fraying edge of one blanket. He twists the loose threads tighter and tighter.

James holds in a sigh as he runs his fingers through his hair, pushing the loose strands back. "Do you want me to leave for a while?" he asks.

Immediately Stark pushes forward, hand outstretched. He's nearly touched James' arm when he freezes, fingers curling into his palm. His expression looks pained. "No," he admits. "No, I don't... but—" He stops talking when James places his left hand on Stark's and gently tugs him forward.

"Don't chase me off," James says quietly. "I don't have anywhere to be."

Stark shifts over to sit at James' side. Their knees bump together.

"Checkers or chess?" Stark asks.

"What?"

"What, you don't play games?"

James pokes Stark in the side with his elbow. "I know what they are, jerk. Why're you asking?"

Without hesitation, Stark says, "Hey, Jay, lay out a checkerboard for us, will you?"

"Of course, Sir." James can't be imagining the happiness in the AI's response.

Stark doesn't seem to notice what he's done. It's the first time that James has heard him speak to the AI. Until now, Stark hasn't even tried to address JARVIS' presence.

Not wanting to call attention to the smooth interaction, James focuses on the game board projected in front of them. "So you're having us play checkers?"

Stark's shrug bumps their shoulders together. "Why not?"

James goes along with it without further comment, moving his first piece.

"Bet I win," Stark taunts, a smile tugging at his lips.

"What makes you so sure?" James asks as he makes his next move.

"I'm said to be a genius."

"Are you?"

Stark shoves James. "Yeah, Mr. Disbeliever. Wow, are you this much of a jerk to Steve?"

"Nah," James answers. He looks sidelong at Stark and grins. "Worse."

"No wonder you're sticking around with me," Stark mutters.

"Hey," James affects offense. "I can have plenty of company."

"So I'm, what, scaring them off?" Stark takes his next turn without looking at the pieces. He wears a half-smile as he nudges James with his elbow. "Too intimidating?"

"Whatever you say."

Their next turns go by rapidly, all the while a simple stream of conversation carries on. It is surprisingly easy, and James feels like perhaps the man Steve described is still there to coax into returning. More than once, Stark defers to JARVIS on something, and the AI readily provides an answer. He seems at ease.

James smiles in response and feels the tense hunch of his shoulders relax. When Stark leans in with a laugh, he lets himself lean right back.

It's a good reprieve.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotrod AGAIN helped out with ending Steve and Bucky's conversation and bridging that with Tony's wake-up. ♥ At this rate, we should freaking outright coauthor something. Yeesh.
> 
> There will be a bonus Tony POV "past" scene at some point. It may be part of the regular update, or possibly a buffer day... I need to iron out the final scene(s).


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The penultimate chapter!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> OK so I have to admit that I was thinking of posting one long chapter, but final details of the last scene are still causing my trouble. Also, as much help as hotrod is, they're also distracting.
> 
> Second -- I'm posting this chapter without another look-over that it should get. I'm feeling rather ill so I'd rather post and have to do some more editing later.
> 
> Relevant to this chapter -- for those who might not know [Starbursts](https://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Starburst_\(confectionery\))

James half-hides in the doorway, remaining in the hall while peering around the door-frame to look at the room on the other side of the glass wall. Someone had brought in a card table and a few dining chairs; James thinks he's seen them in Natasha's apartment. Currently Stark and Barton sit across from one another, stares locked over their handfuls of cards.

Between Steve's worried stares and Stark finally insisting he wanted some space, James had gone back to his apartment for twelve hours. Half a day seems a reasonable amount of time to give some space, right? He hadn't considered Stark might have other visitors — at least not anyone besides Rhodes and Steve, both of whom have been around. He thinks Pepper has been by as well.

Stark had quickly warmed up to Rhodes despite the gaps in his memories regarding their history. With Steve, Stark is more wary, hesitating before he speaks, and his movements become more stiff. But now James is here, lurking in the doorway and watching Stark and Clint stare each other down like they're betting their lives in their game of—

"Go fish," Clint says, voice deep.

Stark's eyes narrow suspiciously. He glances at Clint's hand, then back to his face. "Why are you lying?"

"I'm not!"

"You so are."

"Are you counting cards in _go fish?_ " Clint squawks a protest as Stark reaches over to start tugging at his wrists. "Hey, hey! No, bad touch!" the archer shouts through laughter as he tries to hold onto his cards and simultaneously keep them out of Stark's sight.

James chews on the inside of his lip as he watches. After another moment of watching the chaos of scattering cards, James retreats fully into the hall and returns to the elevator. "Can you let me know if he— if I'm needed?"he requests with a quick glance at one of the AI's cameras.

"Of course, Mr. James. And might I add that you would be welcomed to partake in the socializations the others are attempting to engage?"

"It's easier to process with fewer people," he responds, knowing firsthand what it's like to try and collect fragmented memories. He isn't sure if it will be easier or harder for Stark to figure out his identity with a group of people he should know surrounding him.

"At your leisure, Mr. James."

~

When James opens his door in response to a knock, he finds Natasha standing in the hall with a cooler at her feet and a bag of groceries tucked between her arm and torso. "Come on," she tells him, kicking the cooler toward him. "We have places to be." She turns around and strides to the elevator, obviously assuming that James will follow.

He watches her for a moment, noting the fact that she's wearing yoga pants and an over-sized sweatshirt. Her hair isn't perfectly combed, and her posture is purposefully relaxed. She's up to something.

Glancing down at his feet, James takes only a moment to debate picking up the cooler before giving in. He catches up with Natasha quickly, and they step into the elevator together.

"What are you planning?" he asks, looking at the food sticking out of the top of her bag. There's a roll of paper towels on the top with a package of croissants just beneath it.

"Do you not need to eat?" Natasha counters, eyebrow rising.

"If you were just trying to feed me, you would've left the food with me," he points out.

The elevator doors open on their destination, providing Natasha the opportunity to walk away without replying. James keeps his exasperated sigh to himself and follows after her.

Natasha greets Stark as soon as she passes through the door. "Hey, Tony, you hungry?"

When James walks in, he's treated to the sight of a collection of complex card houses Tony must have been working on for hours. Cards from a variety of game decks build up the structures, smaller cards standing in for architectural details.

"You brought food _and_ James?" Amusement and delight shine in his eyes, more genuine than the still too-bright glow of blue. "What did I do to get this reward?"

Natasha pauses at the locked inner door to scan her palm. She moves inside and taps Stark on the nose before she responds. "Nothing special." He steps back from the tap, nose wrinkling as she grins.

Entering more slowly, James studies the open ease Natasha is displaying. It is uncharacteristic, but watching her interaction with Stark makes it obvious this is her approach to make things comfortable. It seems to be working well, too. 

Stark takes the grocery bag over to the table and digs in enthusiastically. At a significant look from Natasha, James makes his way over and sets down the cooler.

Soon the three of them are vying for choice sandwich fillings and trying to steal pickles without getting stabbed by Natasha. She'd never shown the possessiveness before, but James' left hand has been struck by her butter knife enough times in the past five minutes that he's starting to wonder if she'll leave a dent.

Seeming to read his mind, Stark leans over and says, "If you need it, I'll buff it out and offer you a polish." There is more warm brown in his irises these days; James can't help but focus on the natural color through the haze as Stark gives a quick wink. His smile is the one from candid photos Rhodes brought in the other day and shared.

It takes a few moments with Stark continuing to stare at him for James to reply. He offers a crooked smile and says, "Deal." He ignores Natasha's calculating look that she directs his way.

Some time later, Natasha rips into a giant bag of Starbursts and flicks the little squares with precise aim so that they smack into Stark's and James' foreheads.

"Hey!" Stark dodges the next one by ducking partway out of his chair. James catches the one she throws his way, then captures the next one aimed at Stark. When she seems to be done with her attack, Stark sits up and tugs at James' hand to get some of the candy.

"Was there a reason for that?" James asks. He turns over all of his candy to Stark, then reaches over to pull a handful from the bag Natasha's holding. He's mildly surprised she doesn't yank it away.

"Reflex training," she deadpans with a shrug. Amusement dances in her eyes.

She unwraps and pops a yellow Starbust into her mouth. As she chews, she starts smoothing out the wrapper and folding it to make a long rectangle. He doesn't think she's done chewing by the time she unwraps the next candy, red this time, and folds the wrapper in a similar fashion. He watches her with narrowed eyes as he slowly unwraps an orange candy for himself. He isn't sure what to think about the artificially sweet taste and waxy texture, but it's intriguing enough for him to keep chewing.

Next to him, Natasha continues to fold the wrappers, a mirror of each other. Stark has wrappers of his own under his fingers, watching Natasha and copying her moments with interest. James sits back to watch. Natasha crosses the pieces and starts to tuck the ends in. As she does this, James starts to recognize the shape of a throwing-star.

Stark laughs as he makes the final folds. "Really?"

Natasha smirks, picking up her paper model and flipping it into the air before catching it again. "Did you expect something else?"

"Guess not."

A dangerous glint enters her eyes as she sends a glance James' way. He holds up a hand, eyebrow raised in silent warning. Because of his focus on her, he misses Stark lining up a shot; the little star, edges smoothed out to a sharp point, bounces off his cheek.

Surprised, James turns to see Stark with his hand pressed to his mouth as lines of mirth crease the corners of his eyes. Natasha's star flies across the table, and from there, it's on.

Rhodes shows up some time later to find the three of them flinging tiny, brightly colored throwing stars at each other amid scattered cards and discarded candy.

~

James hears the whir and beep of something mechanical as he steps out of the stairwell and into the hallway. He pauses to listen, unfamiliar with the sound coming from Stark's room. A cheerful mechanical whistle is followed by a low chuckle.

"Yeah, I know, I know. Now stop that before you leave bruises."

Frowning to himself, James continues down the hall and into the front room of the suite. He stops short inside the doorway, surprised by what he sees on the other side of the glass. A large crane-like arm attached to a boxy base rolls back and forth in front of Stark, the claw at the end of its arm grasping at Stark's shoulder.

"What did I just say?" Stark admonishes through a grin. He shuffles his feet out of the way whenever the exuberant motions of the robot arm move a little too close. "Don't break my toes or I'll let R&D keep you forever."

The robot backs up a good foot and stops. The arm bends and the claw dips, as if it's sulking. Stark straightens up and pats the strut above where the claw joins. As he changes the pat to a gentle stroke over the metal, Stark looks up and his gaze catches on James.

The blue haze is faint today, James notices. The bright smile Stark had given the robot changes, not quite dimming, but it's a little more crooked. His gaze sweeps over James before darting to the side. He clears his throat. "I was kind of wondering when you'd be back."

James slowly makes his way to the door but hesitates with his fingers on the control panel. He glances sidelong at the man on the other side and finds he's being watched as well. There's a strange tension in the air that's been absent before.

Stark's eyes return to his robot. "You can still come in. He won't hurt you."

James keys in his code and steps through the door. He only walks in far enough to clear the entry. 

They stand there awkwardly, a strange turn of events. James has a faint suspicion of what has happened, and he isn't sure how to proceed.

The mechanical arm lifts and turns the camera attached near its claw in James' direction. It lets out a little whistle and beep.

Stark muffles what sounds like a laugh. "Yeah, I guess introductions are in order. Ah, DUM-E, meet James Barnes. You know Steve, this is Steve's bestie." James feels his eyes narrow just slightly at the description. Stark looks over at him and says, "James, meet DUM-E."

It's another of Stark's creations, then. Looking more closely, James recognizes the robot from a magazine cover and some of the candid shots JARVIS provided before the rescue mission. The robot rolls back from Stark and turns to approach James. It whistles curiously and lifts its arm up to bring its camera to face height.

"Mr. James was instrumental in Sir's return," JARVIS speaks up.

James misses the expression on Stark's face, too busy eyeing DUM-E, but he hears fond exasperation in the man's voice as he asks, "Still overly formal, Jay?"

"I merely wish to convey respect, Sir."

"From anyone else it'd sound mocking," Stark points out.

"Then it is a good thing that I am not 'anyone else'," JARVIS notes with clearly voiced air quotes.

DUM-E leans forward and tilts its claw towards Jame's left arm, exposed by his sleeveless shirt. With only a moment of hesitation, he raises his arm a little in silent invitation. He's curious to see what the robot does. DUM-E beeps enthusiastically and promptly starts tapping its claw along the metal plates.

"At least he kinda asked permission before he started groping you," Stark notes dryly. When James looks up, he sees the other man's watching the interaction with an expression of fond amusement.

"You remember," James says. They're the first words he's spoken since laying eyes on Stark today. As their gazes meet, James has a strangely distant feeling that they're meeting for the first time. 

Stark blinks slowly at him, seeming to contemplate his words as he chews on his bottom lip. It takes a while for him to answer.

"To... some extent," he finally admits. "It's... spotty." His gaze flicks down, and his smile this time holds little amusement. "I suppose you understand that."

Since he's not being watched, James murmurs his agreement, "I do."

"Yeah. So..." Stark trails off with a small frown.

DUM-E closes his claw around James' thumb and tugs. Attention diverted from Stark, James allows the robot to move his arm around. He watches the camera change focus as it scans over the smaller, more detailed plates of his artificial wrist and fingers.

"He's not bothering you, is he?" Stark asks.

James shakes his head. "Seems like it— he's just curious." His fingers twitch at the memory of a warm grasp squeezing around his hand. DUM-E beeps thoughtfully, maneuvering his claw so that his pincer-like fingers clasp James' hand in a reasonable facsimile of a human's hold. 

Stark inhales sharply, catching James' attention immediately. The spike of adrenaline fades once he sees Stark staring at his hand, a memory lingering in his expression. James glances back at DUM-E. He pats the robot with his right hand as he extracts himself from the robot's hold. Thankfully DUM-E gets the hint and backs off with a reluctant whistle. James lifts his arms and rubs his flesh thumb over the metal of his opposite palm.

"How, um," Stark coughs lightly, "how's it feeling?"

"Fine," James answers automatically with a shrug. Catching sight of the skeptical stare directed at him, he continues, "It functions as normally as I'd expect. There's no outstanding pain, Stark."

"Tony." The name spills past the other man's lips almost before James finishes speaking. They stare at each other, both looking mildly surprised.

"It's Tony," Stark says, more calmly. "And you're okay with James...?" he asks, looking uncertain. "I mean, JARVIS is using it, but it's not like 'Bucky' would be a typical name for him to go with."

James shakes his head, hesitating before offering an explanation. Tony will understand better than most. "That was a lifetime ago."

Tony's lips press together like he has to physically hold back some sort of reply. He nods briefly in acknowledgment.

"Does anyone else know?" James asks, glancing around the room briefly for any sign beyond DUM-E that someone was here before him. It seems strange for Stark to be here alone if memories are coming back to him.

"Know...? Oh. Sure. I mean, yes." Tony rubs at his face with a grimace. "Not exactly gonna hide 'hey I kinda remember my BFF and also wearing a vividly eye-catching suit of armor along with a group of misfits with hero complexes.' But there were some tears and I'm allergic to those." He says it dismissively, nose scrunched up in an exaggerated reaction of disgust. "Do I look red? I think I may have gotten hives. I blame Rhodey."

James huffs quietly, not quite laughing. "You're fine, Tony."

The other man stills, a flash of uncertainty crossing his expression before it's buried again in a mask of nonchalance. "I'd think you'd be sympathetic. I feel like you'd be allergic to tears, too."

With a shrug, James says, "Only mildly." His lips curve up when Tony stares at him as if he hadn't expected James to play along.

"I blame your tolerance on super serum. Or exposure to Steve. He's a big softy outside the uniform, isn't he."

"He cried," James decides to share. "A lot."

Stark blinks, nonplussed by the confession. "Oh. Well. I guess I wouldn't blame him." He scratches at his cheek again and makes a face as his fingers scrape against a scruffy beard. "I mean, what was it? Seventy odd years?" There's something in the way he says it — a hint of bitterness — that urges James forward.

"Don't compare," James says. Tony's eyes widen when he looks up, apparently he hadn't paid attention to the distance between them closing. James is tempted to step away again, he can feel the difference in the air between them. Whatever the reason for the strange magnetism between a confused Stark and himself, it seems to have faded into the background. James has to convince himself not to back away. "The years don't matter. Not really," he admits quietly. He can't look away from the stare locked on his.

The blue lingers, an unnatural haze covering earthy brown irises. "But—" Stark goes silent when James impulsively grabs his fingers. They both drop their gazes to the metal fingers curved around Stark's too-pale hand, the consequence of being tucked away so long by Hydra.

James doesn't know what he's doing — if he could have ever claimed to. He swallows back his hesitance and follows a memory. He brushes his thumb over Tony's palm, the movement swift and ungraceful. He's close enough to feel the other man's breath stutter. More carefully this time, James drags his thumb over the swell of Stark's palm. Even though the feeling is muted via the prosthetic, something about the motion sends a tingle of warmth through him. He swallows hard and finds that he has to consciously keep his breathing steady.

It's affecting Stark, too. His breaths seem to stutter past his lips every few seconds, and slowly he's leaning forward, as if drawn inexorably closer. James cautiously lifts his right arm as Tony's forehead drops against his chest. He can feel the humid heat of breathing through the fabric of his shirt. He carefully lays his arm around Tony's shoulders, silently inviting the man to move closer.

He can feel his pulse thrumming against his wrist and his throat. He's frozen but not cold. Tony's warmth blankets him from the front and somehow it's enough to carry heat throughout his entire body. His breath catches when a hand brushes against his side, the pressure so light that James only feels it because of how focused he is on Tony. A barely audible sound trembles in his throat, an emotion he can't name choking him. Stark seems to understand, though. His hand settles more firmly against James' side, fingers an assuring comfort with their weight.

His eyes close, and James lets his head fall forward to rest against Tony's. His cheek presses into brunette hair grown shaggy from too long without a haircut. The hand against his side slides to the small of his back, and Tony shuffles just a little bit closer. James turns his face to the side, nose bumping against the tip of Stark's ear. The breath against his throat trembles, and James has to press his fingertips firmly against Tony's shoulder to hide the tremor he can feel go through him.

_What are you doing?_ a quiet voice pipes up from the back of his mind. He has no answer; he hardly knows how he got to this moment. 

The hand in his moves and James quickly lets go, nervous that he had inadvertently clutched too tight. Tony recaptures his hand before he moves far; their fingers slot together and James can't control his full body shudder that carries through his limbs and out on an exhale. Tony's fingers clench in his shirt as he presses his body forward.

Their proximity allows him to recognize the instant Stark shakes in a very distinctive way. He can feel Tony's jaw clench as a quiet, cut-off sob brushes against his chest. James stills but makes sure not to tense, not wanting Tony to back off. When Tony shows no signs of trying to brush him off, instead tangling their fingers further together, James slowly begins to shift his weight from side to side, gently rocking them.

Tony snorts a wet-sounding laugh. Pressed against James' chest, his low voice comes out muffled. "The fuck is happening? Jesus. I'm snotting all over your damn shirt. God, I'm sorry. What's—"

"It's okay," James murmurs, lips millimeters from Tony's ear. "I don't care." His collar is damp with tears and he can feel Tony's hand clench on his back in obvious frustration.

"Well _I_ do, damn it. This isn't— I shouldn't—" He cuts himself off with a sharp inhale. His face presses harder against James' chest. Tony's body shudders as he fights off tears. 

This is familiar, though James had been in Stark's place before — desperately trying to hold in what felt like pointless tears. Steve had held him, always returning when James in turns bodily shoved him away and then grasped desperately for his friend. He had screamed himself hoarse more than once, not always due to nightmares.

James struggles against the lump at the base of his throat. Until he can speak, he just curls around Tony, holding on as best he can. He's probably not the best choice for this, he thinks. His therapist is still coaxing him into talking a little more each time they meet. Words don't work well for him. He can't remember anymore if it had always been like this.

"I'm sorry," comes the whisper against his chest. He can feel the shape of the words pressed through damp cloth against his clavicle. Tony mutters them again and again even though James murmurs reassurances back. His chest feels tight. But he's not cold. He's warm, still warm and not hollow.

~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Make your own ninja star: http://www.instructables.com/id/How-to-make-an-Origami-Ninja-Star-3/
> 
> And thank you so much for your amazing response to this, it means a lot!


	12. Chapter 12

It takes a long while for Tony to calm enough that he's comfortable taking a step back. James is slow to let him go, wondering if Tony really wants the distance or if he thinks it's necessary. When he catches Stark's eyes — glossy and red from tears — the other man hesitates. He turns his head aside and starts rubbing the back of his wrist over his eyes, but his other hand remains clasped with James'.

"Really not making a good impression here, am I?" he tries to joke, voice coming out scratchy. "I'm sor—"

"Don't," James says again, firm but gentle. "I... Steve. He was there. When I..." He shrugs as he stares at their hands; it seems to be a safe place to look.

"Oh..." Tony breathes. "I didn't..." He trails off and James watches him rub at his mouth nervously.

"Sirs," JARVIS speaks quietly, but it still startles both men. "Pardon me, but at your convenience, there are a few concerned Tower residents requesting to speak with you."

James frowns as he darts a look at a corner camera. "You locked them out?"

"There was no danger, and I deemed privacy to be a priority."

Tony chuckles softly and shakes his head. "When did you get so grown up?"

"I've always been mature for my age, Sir."

James watches the smile brighten Tony's expression, making the tear stains less obvious. His heart beats a heavy rhythm in his chest.

"So who's about to pound down the door?" Stark asks, wiping at his eyes some more.

"Colonel Rhodes and Captain Rogers are of main concern, I believe. Agent Barton seems more inclined to wait on the roof of the elevator car."

James smirks to himself at that. He notices Tony's shoulders lift minutely as his muscles tense; his mouth twists as he struggles to settle on an expression. James addresses JARVIS, "Ask them to be patient a few more minutes." Tony looks at him in confusion. The blue glow seems to intensify and James feels his heart sink, even though the light fades a moment later. He explains, "It'll give you a little time to wash up."

Tony nods, expression clearing. He glances away, licking his lips. "Ah... thanks. Good thinking. I'll just..." He takes a step toward the far side of the room where the little washroom is tucked aside. He still hasn't let go of James' hand, a fact he only seems to realize a step later when he stretches to make the reach. He looks down at their joined hands. "Oh." He releases his grip, and James withdraws his hands. Tony rubs the back of his neck nervously. "Sorry. I'll just... go. Wash my face." He makes a vague gesture towards his destination. His eyes stray to James' hand once more before he turns abruptly and hurries off.

James releases a long exhale and drags his hand through his hair. "They staying put, JARVIS?" he asks.

"Yes, with a ten minute ultimatum," the AI responds.

He lets an amused smile stretch his lips as he rolls his shoulders and stretches his neck. Out of curiosity he brings his right hand to his left. The metal is warm to the touch where Tony had held it for so long.

It only takes Tony a few minutes to wash up. He tells JARVIS to let the others in.

James hears the stairwell door open; Rhodes' exasperated voice carries down the hall, " _Finally!_ " He and Steve don't quite run into the room, but it's obvious to James that they were worried.

Tony steps out of the restroom looking fresh-faced despite his scruffy beard. It seems to be bothering him, as he keeps reaching up to scratch at his jaw.

"Stop locking me out, man," Rhodes admonishes as his gaze quickly takes in Tony from head to toe.

"I'm not trying to," Tony protests as he walks closer to the barrier. He gestures pointedly towards the door controls. "Besides, you've got a pass in right now."

Rhodes glances back at Steve, and they share a significant look. James glances between them, wondering what this is about. When Steve nods and approaches the door control, James has a guess. Rhodes returns his gaze to Tony and smiles reassuringly.

"About that, we think it's time you're not so cooped up."

Tony's expression blanks, eyes widening. He even takes a step back. James' hand lifts a little, ready to reach out.

"I'm not— Just because I know nicknames — Huggybear, Capsicle — doesn't mean you should just let me go wandering around. There's still all this—" his hands flutter in front of him, gesturing towards his face "—stuff in my head. There's all these things I don't—"

"Tones, it'll be alright," Rhodes says gently. He holds Tony's gaze as Steve gets the door open. "There's JARVIS. There's me. There's these Avengers people you invited who're sticking around."

James watches Tony's expression closely; the man isn't able to hide his apprehension. Although the light is duller, his eyes still shine with blue. His hands clench into fists as he lowers them to his sides. He doesn't argue with Rhodes again, but the gaze he flicks toward the open door is filled with uncertainty.

"Come on, Tones," Rhodes coaxes. He moves to the door and waits a few feet away on the opposite side, his arms held out a little like he's going to catch his friend.

Tony's wide-eyed stare turns to James. His lips part as if to speak, but no sound escapes.

"Need me to head out first?" James asks quietly. Tony doesn't respond, but his expression softens. "Alright. See you on the other side," he offers with a slight smile.

James steps through the barrier into the entryway. He spares a glance to take in the hopeful expressions on Steve's and Rhodes' faces. James stops a few feet from the door and turns. Tony stands, seemingly frozen, still on the other side of the glass. His eyes don't seem to fully focus as he stares blankly at the doorway, brow furrowed. DUM-E hovers nearby, arm raised as his camera scans between the doorway and his creator.

Clearing his throat quietly, James holds out his hand. "Hey, want to help me beat Clint in Mario Kart?"

Tony's gaze sharpens and locks onto James. He doesn't move yet, but he asks, "What number is it now?"

"Eight," James answers. "Are there really seven other ones? Why don't they use a new name?" As he speaks, Tony walks forward. He hesitates for a breath on the threshold, one foot barely touching the floor beyond the frame. His arm is raised, already reaching. James moves forward to catch his hand before the lost expression returns. Tony steps easily after that.

Even when Rhodes engages him in a conversation, Tony's gaze lingers on James. Apprehension tightens the corners of his eyes; his smile is present but tenuous.

James isn't sure what comes next, but he sees the expression on Rhodes' face that matches Steve's, and he worries. His best friend still has moments where he turns to James expecting to find his remembered version of Bucky, even though they both know that time is past. The disappointment Steve can't always mask brings a knot of guilt and anger, every time. He wishes he could spare Stark that.

Tony's fingers squeeze his hand before letting go. James stuffs his hands into his pockets and turns toward Steve. His best friend is smiling, broad and relieved as he reaches out and wraps an arm around James' shoulder.

"Come on, the others have dinner ready," Steve says. "They're just waiting on us."

James glances sidelong at the others, watching how Tony leans hesitantly into the hug Rhodes offers. Steve jostles him gently, regaining his attention and pointedly urging them towards the hall. Behind them,he's relieved to hear footsteps following them up to join the rest of the Avengers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hotrod coached me through the final paragraph. :p Cuz I have an awful time writing endings.
> 
> Sorry-not-sorry it's not fully conclusive. There's a sequel to be written given the ideas for _that_ story arc.
> 
> Thanks a billion for all the comments, kudos, bookmarks, and subscriptions. It's been super awesome and uplifting to have such support! A gajillion thanks to the WinterIron Discord. Holy crap are people amazing.


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